An Unfinished Story Without a Title
by The Bonaparte Theory
Summary: An estranged son of a hero who was killed in a supposed coup meets a man in prison 7 years later who is being hunted by the same men who he thinks killed his father and who claims to have answers and solutions to both of their problems through arcane magi


CHAPTER 1

Several soldiers in muddied and rusted armor suits stumbled violently through the rat infested Lamington Alley, throwing bottles of liquor into the air as their cracked and rusted shields banged the heads of wasted gamblers and thieves who lost their fortunes and dignity to lust and greed. Silhouettes of men with drunken delight parade through their homes as their wives cry out of desperation for affection. Their pathetic display could be seen from the dim, candle lit streets. From somewhere along the road, you can here the faint screaming of a woman as she shrieks in unimaginable pain, all unsuspecting listeners bewildered as to who or what could bring about such pitiful suffering to any living being. The sky, if you could call it that, is nothing more than a dense grey cloud of collected smoke rising from the rooftops and chillums of every man and of every building in this sewage dump. It hovers listlessly above the city lights and flows throughout the streets like a river. Beggars lay half naked, with their arms and legs strewn about like a waking child, rolling around on the ground in utter disarray, with no awareness to the fact that they roll in pools of piss and blood.

This is just one street in the Isle of Luxus. Only nine years ago, Luxus used to be the most distinguished military stronghold for the Calduron Kingdom. Situated off the coasts of western Calduron, the island provided an ideal station and fort for those who were on their way to the battlegrounds of the great war between Calduron and the southern kingdom of Crescendore.

And so now, nine years after the great war of the two kingdoms, the Isle of Luxus could be mistaken for a waste dump, a collection of feces piled onto a giant rock in the ocean, with the walls of the magnificent blue fortress reduced to false sapphires for fatuous fools. Roads and paths are littered with trash that is uncaringly thrown out of windows without the slightest regard for anyone below and every so often hitting an unsavory fellow who happens to be urinating on the same pile of waste. Buildings stand crooked, creaking and swaying side to side whenever the wind blows. The waters surrounding the island have become tainted with a dark brown color, practically poisonous due to the heavy pollution. It's a sad, wretched settlement, a home to the most vile, worthless scum of western Ananthea.. The once proud soldiers from the Legionnaires of Calduron and the Calduron Army who fought to protect their homeland from invasion, waste away in the streets, to the debaucheries' that plague all weak men's thoughts. Law has lost its power, much like in the rest of Calduron. Thieves, crooks, murderers…they all lurk the streets of Luxus without any second thought of being found out. The people that hold any power are the soldiers, who are horribly corrupt individuals. Payments, or, "donations", whatever you want to call it, a pretty face…that's all you need to get out of trouble. No one dares to stand up to the soldiers either, and no one dares to make a nuisance of themselves in front of one, because if one day a soldier decides to be the law, you will find yourself hanging in a cage at the prison known as Arroya until you inevitably are freed from your misery by death.

The drunken soldiers voices can be heard getting somewhat clearer and clearer (despite the fact that their mumbled words sounded like a drunken baby) as they inch their way through the alley. They begin to sing the words to an old sailor's song from the war, horribly ruining the tune and slurring the words:

Diamonds in the sea

Calling out for the brave

There's not a second to waste

Or it'll be lost to the waves

Keep an eye on the horizon

Don't forget your last kiss

When you're sinking to the depths

You'll be thinking of this

A young man was sitting sluggishly on a bench outside the Jalebee Pub, the most infamous pub in all of Ananthea, as he watched the soldiers stumble by. The song the soldiers were singing reminded him of his childhood, and out of nostalgia he sang a verse to himself:

Follow that treasure map

Till you see a glimmer of gold

As it embraces your soul

You'll begin to lose control…

The Jalebee Pub – The town hall and courthouse of Luxus, where all decisions about anything are laid down by anyone who dares to think past their bottle. Oh, and also…pub. The best of the worst can be found here. Men drinking themselves to near death, wooing other men mistaken for women, and the men being wooed play along because they're so utterly drunk that they think they truly are women. Veterans still yell and rant about the war and who killed the most Crescendoreans. Even groups of gamblers, thieves, and murderers call this shabby building their home away from home, with their real homes being the street right outside the doors. All day everyday Jalebee is filled to capacity with those looking for the only escape the island can provide. There's a daunting second floor, but no one goes up there anymore. It used to be the place for fine dining, away from the weary and broken soldiers who returned from battle that would be drinking themselves blind downstairs. Throughout the years, regulars and newcomers have learned (surprisingly) that if you support the bold idea of going up to the second floor, you WILL be thrown back down by a gang of angry drunks that for one reason or another decided to follow you, and you WILL die, which leaves the simple observation that Jalebee is quite crowded nowadays, and loud, although there is never any music being played, only the sounds of glass breaking and tables turning and wild men howling like monkeys as they play a game of 'who can be the biggest example of pathetic in the world".

In the darkest corner at the back of the pub, are two very, very drunk persons. There's a woman wearing a very elegant dark green dress with the open back exposing her scarred white skin. She has on an array of expensive jewelry. A striking silver necklace strangles the woman's' thin neck, with a plum sized dark green emerald pendant dangling just between her collar bones, which stick out of her body quite profusely. Large diamond earrings reflect and magnify every ray of the very little light that is in the room. One look at them could temporarily blind you.

She's laughing and moving around her chair like waves in the ocean, placing her head on and off the shoulder of the man sitting next to her, who looks like he's about to throw up every meal he ever had after the day he was born. The green faced fellow rolls his head around and around as the woman grabbed onto his torso, squeezing him ever so tightly with her left hand and inserting her right hand gently into his pocket. The man loses what ever self-control he had left and vomits all over the woman's feet. She whispers into his ear, "You disgusting fiend," as she gets up and slaps the man across the face, knocking him off the chair and falling into a slump on the floor. All the commotion going on around her seizes, as they notice a wasted man is lying on the ground, and like flies to a dead carcass, they scurry over to him knocking each other over trying to be to the first to get to the lifeless body so they can take what they can before anyone else has a chance.

The doors of the pub burst forth and the woman stumbles out, falling flat on her face. She wipes the blood and dirt from her mouth as she slowly begins to sit up. Looking feverishly behind her to check if this embarrassing moment was caught by any eyes, she notices the man sitting there on the bench with smoke rising from all around his head. He has on a round black cap with a long white feather attached to the right side. A dark red scarf wraps around his neck. Along with that he wore a burgundy velvet vest with a squarish object bulging conspicuously in the pocket. His long black coat fit tightly against his body, with some simple black pants and black leather shoes to go with it. His face was darkened by the large rim of the hat, making him unrecognizable. The man continued smoking a chillum to himself with no regard to the woman whatsoever.

"Why…why helloooo Mr. Sweetie, would you mind?" she mumbled.

Oh god, Not again…He thought to himself.

"Mind what…," the man responded with total distaste.

He struck a match and put it to his chillum, the flame ominously lighting his face for a few moments taking another puff.

" My...mind, what…mind what? Eh...may I sat right there next to…there…you there…". She mumbled, pointing at the seat on the bench next to him. He took a large puff and nodded his head. She rolled over onto her hands and knees and picked herself up from the path. Walking absurdly to the man, the woman winked and fell lazily back against the bench.

"Sso, nightss not goin' so well, hun?" she lisped.

The man replied, "I believe my mother once told me not to talk to strangers".

She burst into laughter, "A sense of rrrumor...that'ss what you've got. You know, I just love that in a man. What'ss your name ssweetie?"

"Cyril. Cyril D' mires…and yours?"

"Huh? Ssire Dessire?"

"Yeah…Sire Desire…" He chuckled to himself, " So wha-", but before he could finish his sentence, the woman leaned over towards him with perked lips ready to give a kiss. Cyril jerked back, causing her to lose her balance and to fall straight onto his lap while at the same time knocking the chillum out of his hand..

"Going for the gold, Ssire Dessire?" she laughed, disillusioned by exactly what just happened. Cyril jumped up from the bench, knocking the woman to the floor. Some sort of small silvery artifact had fallen from the woman's hand and caught his attention as it rolled a few feet from the bench. He walked to the woman, picked her up, and set her comfortably on the bench, "Sorry…here." He reached into his inner coat pocket and pulled out a beedie. Taking out a match stick from the matchbox in his vest pocket, he struck it against the wall, lit the beedie, placed it securely in her lips, stepped towards the silver object, and kicked it out onto the road.

"Make it last," he said, expecting that to be the last words he would say to her.

Cyril walked out onto the road, picking up the silver object, and continued to walk down Lamington Alley.

It was three in the morning already. The only sounds left in the city were the occasional muffled yell from an intoxicated man to his wife and some glass breaking here and there. Cyril was moving slowly, tinkering back and forth to a tune that he whistled to himself. He walked by a beggar passed out on a pile of garbage, with his mouth wide open and snoring quite loudly. The man had no shirt on and layers of dirt and who knows what else covered his pale white skin. Lice and small crumbs of food had made reservations inside his scruffy beard.

Cyril couldn't help but feel sorry for the poor fellow. A victim of the civil war most likely, a run away from the mainland, driven out because he was a loyalist to King Elrick.

It was impossible for him to continue on walking without leaving something for the estranged begger. He dug through each of his pockets, with none of them turning out any sort of reward. Cyril then remembered about the silver item he collected earlier and took it out from his vest pocket. He first lit a match, holding up the object to the fire. It looked to be an exquisite custom crafted ring, definitely a rare and expensive item. A thin stretch of tiny rubies dotted both edges of the ring. In the middle were elaborately carved insignias and what looked be words of a language he had not seen before. Curious and amazed of the ring but unable to get a proper look, Cyril walked to the nearest street lamp at the corner of the road. He held it under the light and continued to inspect the ring, reading the strange words to himself.

Novus Fatima Novus Vita…

The words were unknown to him and thus had no immediate meaning, but Cyril was still amazed and could not keep his eyes off of the complex ring. There was a small carving of a snake with its body wrapping around in a spiral, in between the words Fatima and Novus, and inside the snake's body was an etching of a square, and in each corner, a different symbol that was also of unknown origin to Cyril. A twisting vine with many small thorns divided the snake and words from the bordering rubies... But his attention to the ring was disrupted when he heard someone yell "YOU THERE, SIRE DESIRE"! Cyril looked up from the ring and saw three soldiers and the woman from the pub.

"That's the man! That's the man! He stole my ring!" the woman exclaimed, pointing her finger directly at Cyril. At once, they retrieved their swords and swung them threateningly towards Cyril.

"You! Stay where you are!" the soldiers yelled to him.

Cyril, knowing how he looked standing there with the ring in his hand, knowing the nature of woman who was probably still drunk, and knowing how the soldiers stationed in Luxus were corrupt scoundrels with swords who abused their positions, he had only one choice. Fight.

The soldiers, still a bit inebriated from their heavy drinking, began to walk towards Cyril, tripping over and bumping into one another, their armor scraping against each other violently as they clashed in the middle of this silent and derelict night. Two of the soldiers drew their swords while the other one swung a chain through the air. Cyril, remembering he had no weapon with him as he grabbed around his waste and patted his coat and vest, realized now that he had to run. But as soon as he was about to turn, the soldier with the chain whipped it into a fury and swung the chain at Cyril's ankles, wrapping around them and causing him to trip just as he was about to take his first step and the ring to fall from his hands when he plummeted to the floor. He threw out his arms trying to reach for the ring as it rolled aimlessly away and was lost under the wasted beggar's pile of trash.

He struggled with his legs trying to loosen the chain but it was a well choreographed throw. Cyril then quickly flipped over onto his back, grabbed the rusted chain, and pulled the tipsy soldier towards him. The soldier stumbled forward and plunged onto his stomach right beside Cyril, sparks flying as the metal armor skid across the gravel path. Cyril squirmed in surprise as he watched the man nearly crush him under massive size. A quick glance at the soldier's belt strap revealed a reflection of a dagger against the light of the streetlamp, and at first chance, he grabbed the blade from the soldier's waist belt and thrust it under the man's helmet and into the back of the man's neck.

The other two soldiers, shocked by turn of events, charged at Cyril with their swords swinging in the air. At the same time, both men swung with full force at Cyril who was still on the ground, but at the last second, Cyril rolled out of the way causing the soldiers to swing with full force into the air, and in return lose their balance due to the swords heavy weight and stumble forward. This gave Cyril a snippet of time to loosen the chain around his ankles and free himself. He quickly stood up and jumped back a few paces. He readied his spirit, with the dagger in his right hand swinging with the wind as he moved from side to side. The two soldiers regained control of themselves and charged at Cyril again with all their might. He noticed the soldier on the right had a small limp, meaning he wouldn't be able to move that well compared to himself, who is very agile. With that in mind, just before the two men swung at Cyril, he jumped to the left. The soldiers once again swung their swords with too much power, and again they lost their balance.

Seizing the opportune moment, Cyril grabbed the soldier on the left from the top of his helmet, jerking his head back while his body fell forward, leaving Cyril with an open shot at his throat, which he took in a split second without hesitation.

The fragile young woman stood out of harm's way just down the street with one hand at her hip while she observed her cracked nails on the other. When she finally glanced up to the progress of the men, she just then realized what was happening and started screaming manically for help. Heads began appearing from all the windows around the scene with people yelling and screaming 'Murderer!' as they saw the dead soldiers laying in slumps on the street and Cyril still caught in a fierce battle with the last.

This obviously wasn't good for Cyril. He had to end it quickly or run now. He thought about the ring, and the possibility of its value, but then he thought about the beggar, who still lay one the pile of garbage, snoring away, dead to the world, as if none of this ever happened. Then the sound of the soldier's heavy steel greaves scraped against the ground as he started to move towards Cyril again, prompting Cyril to jump back and swing around the lamppost just as the man swung his sword at Cyril's body, only to slice right into the steel post. On the return of the swing, Cyril kicked the man and caused him to stammer to the side and trip over the body of a fellow comrade.

With more and more people beginning to wake up and bear witness to the scene going on down below, Cyril knew that there were two many people watching and that there was too much attention being drawn to him. So without a second thought, he quickly retreated from the fight and dashed down the street towards the harbor towards the south of the island, leaving the precious ring to the beggar.

It seemed as though the entire island had now woken up. People were screaming out their windows and throwing bottles and glasses at Cyril as he ran with great agility, dodging each and every item thrown at him. His feather hat blew off his head while running with great speed, revealing his dark red hair and abysmal black eyes. Cyril ran faster and faster, turning left, right, left, right, trying to the lose the company and get lost in the alleyways, but with every turn, there were more and more soldiers running in his direction with swords drawn and cursing his soul.

As the scent of the salty ocean began to become present, Cyril took a last glance back, realizing now that not only did he have a platoon of soldiers chasing after him, but about thirty or forty angry and hung-over townsfolk chasing after him as well. He made a quick left down a very small alley, jumping over several passed out beggars that were strewn about like logs in the middle of the path. As he reached the end of the alley, he could see the ocean and what looked to be a large galleon floating at the docks, with the Crescendore Kingdom's crescent moon and compass rose insignia at the bow. This was a very strange sight. Crescendorean ships never pass through these waters anymore, let alone a warship. But Cyril did not have any time to think of the galleon, as he finally made it to the road leading to the harbor.

He glanced left and right, surveying the wide empty road that to the right, lead up a steep hill to a restricted area, and left, that preceded on downwards to the gated entrance of the harbor.

Upon arrival to the cobblestone path that highlighted the route which went inside the gates, he unexpectedly ran into a group of five soldiers guarding the entrance. Still in full speed, Cyril ran straight at them. The guards, unprepared with their helmets off, got up and formed a wall by standing side-by-side, as they held their swords outwards in a stabbing position, bracing themselves for impact. Cyril quickly grabbed the blade end of the dagger by his finger tips and threw it at the guards, striking the middle one directly through the mouth. The guards, unfazed by their comrade's brutal end, stood with great solidarity and closed the gap that the man left. Cyril was only a few meters away from the guards now, and he knew he couldn't just run through them. He looked left and right trying to find another route, but walls around the docks prevented any chance of getting past the guards and only would've guided him towards many more. He had no chance, he met his end.

Cyril came to an abrupt stop just inches from the guards blades. Quickly, the four guards surrounded him with their weapons kept steadily at his neck. On man kicked the back of his knees which caused them to buckle and he collapsed to the ground.

By the time the pursuing crowd of soldiers and angry townsfolk arrived, Cyril was on his knees with chains attached to his wrists, ankles, and neck. The rambunctious mob encircled him, grabbing rocks and whatever trash that was near them and pelting Cyril while he stay motionless in defeat. The surviving soldier Cyril originally fought forced his way through the crowd and stormed towards him. He stopped and stood in the front of the street lamppost, leaving only a dark silhouette of his large figure as he towered over Cyril. The soldier took his helmet off and struck him with it. A powerful blow was dealt, gashing his cheek and knocking him onto the ground.

"You bloody!... insolate!… cretin!" yelled the soldier as he continued to strike Cyril three, four, five times. The woman from the pub stepped out from the crowd, "Wait! Don't kill him yet. He has my ring." The soldiers took a step back, but not before kicking Cyril in the stomach, leaving him breathless and gasping for air.

"Where's my ring, honey?" she said with sweet rhetoric. Cyril, chained down and lying on the floor, was still trying to gather his breath. A couple of the harbor guards began searching him roughly, kicking him over and turning out his pockets.

"Listen boy, that ring has much nostalgic value to me. You wouldn't want to go hurting my feelings now, huh?"

She began to lose her patience, from a sweet little grin on her face to red rage, she gave up her cute girl act and became furious.

"Damn you, you ingrate! Tell me where the ring is now!" she yelled at him, kicking him on the back of the head.

"Wh…what…ring…" he mumbled. The woman wouldn't have it anymore.

"Take him away, do what you will with him."

The guards laughed as they started dragging Cyril by the chain..

"We might as well hang the bastard now. Whaddya say lieutenant?" One guard spoke. The other guards began ranting.

"Yeah!" several soldiers said with delight.

"…on the lamppost!"

"Ill take em out wit my swort rot now,sir!" The soldier took out his sword and struck Cyril with the pommel directly on the head, rendering him unconscious.

The lieutenant smirked as the soldiers dragged him away, down the cold, empty streets.

CHAPTER 2

Quite some time later, Cyril slowly began regaining consciousness. His eyelids gradually opened and closed, revealing only small blurry visions now and then. It was quite dark, and the smell of piss and horrid amounts of body odor was very strong, causing Cyril to gag a few times.

"Ooh…god…damn…." he moaned.

There was a lot of loud discord coming from everywhere, but he couldn't get a clear idea as to what it was. He slipped in and out of consciousness several times before his mind became fully clear and was able to comprehend where exactly he was. He was inside a cramped cage. The metal bars were brownish orange from years of rust. It seemed like he was hanging but at the same time standing. Sure enough, Cyril looked up to see his hands were tied together high above his head and attached to a chain on the ceiling, and looking down, his feet were just barely touching the floor which was extremely dirty with some brown substance smeared all over the floor, giving the impression it was either mud or feces. The gash on his cheek was pulsating with pain and the taste of blood filled his mouth. He looked left and right, sizing up the cage he was in, along with seeing many other men in separate cages next to him. The only other thing that stood out to him was a staircase that lead up to somewhere that he couldn't see. The floor behind him was a thick alabaster wall stained with blood. A small barred window was the only vantage point Cyril had of the outside world.

'I'm innocent!'...

'save me!'…

'burn in hell Calduron slugs!'…the prisoners screamed and shouted…but to who? Cyril thought to himself, because there were no guards present to watch over them.

He noticed the prisoner to his left wasn't making any noise and turned his head towards the man, thinking he was already dead. But when he looked at the man, Cyril's eyes met his one. He was a bit startled to be caught in the mans deep stare. His eye glimmered a bright, golden yellow, almost radiating like the sun. He was a young man about Cyril's age. His long straight black hair flowed down his face which covered his other eye, reaching all the way down to his shoulders. He grinned slightly when Cyril looked at him, revealing a single elongated canine tooth that protruded a little even when the smile left him. He had on black gloves and wore a white robe that seemed familiar to Cyril, but that had now unfortunately become stained red with blood and dirtied from being dragged around by the guards. He cleared his throat and weakly said, "Welcome to Arroya."

"Arroya…Arroya…you mean…the prison, Arroya?" Cyril said with disbelief.

"I'm afraid so…"

"Damn!" he screamed, "They couldn't just kill me?!" He shook violently with frustration and anger, trying to get free his hands from the chains.

"Unfortunately, no. That would be too courteous of them."

Cyril kept pulling at the chain, hanging upside with his feet on the ceiling, pushing off it as hard as he could, but the chain would not give. The man continued, " The 'Legionnaires' of Calduron…hah, or so they like call themselves, are not but drunk, spoiled children with swords. Mercy…fairness…sobriety… these words and any other words of the slightest relationship to these have no place in their vocabulary." The man spoke with great arrogance and pride in his voice as he watched with humor while Cyril struggled to break free, "Ill tell you this now to save yourself the hassle, your not getting anywhere." Cyril stopped tugging and torpidly hung from the chains in anguish, listening to the man,

" Even if by some miracle you broke free of these chains, the steel bars go underground about a foot. In other words, if they aren't going anywhere, neither will you." His words pierced the spirit of Cyril.

He continued, "You see, in Arroya, you're not a prisoner of the Calduron Kingdom, you're a captured wild animal, tied up and locked in a cage. There's no trial, no jury, no defense…" Cyril shook his head, "…Once you're in, you're dead. They won't feed you, in fact, they won't even see you. By now you must've noticed there are no guards, correct?"

"Yeah…" Cyril replied, "These guys are wasting their breath screaming and yelling."

"Indeed. Never again will you see a Calduron soldier…but I suppose you can be thankful for that." He laughed, "if you're an optimist…"

Cyril looked the man up and down, trying to place the robe somewhere in his memory, "Your robe, I think I've seen it before."

"Oh, is that so? Where exactly?" the man said with a bit of tension in his voice.

Cyril thought about it, "It must've been a while back, nine…ten years at the most. I remember…I was with my father at the time…have you even been to the city of Broyer?"

"Yes, interestingly, ten years ago, Broyer has a brilliant li-"

"Ah! I knew it…you, you were with an older man, weren't you?"

"Professor…" the man said quietly to himself, "Yes…he was much more than any man, mind you. Professor Searle Yustave was his name."

"Searle Yustave…I'm not so sure about this man, but if I remember correctly, you and I had bumped into each other and I knocked your things out of your hands."

"YOU were that boy?! Why you! You made me drop all my books! How could I forget…didn't you tell me to 'watch myself because your father was in the Calduron Military', hah…as if that meant anything to me."

Cyril was a bit embarrassed, " Heh…sounds like me when I was kid…I had a lot of pride back then, my father being a high ranking officer in Calduron Army and all…I do apologize though, I was like that." He sighed and continued on, "Yes…my father and I had gone to the library to look at some books on tactics and strategy cause you see, my father really was in the military- he actually used to be the Commander of the First Archery Division in the Calduron Army, and ten days prior to visiting the library, he had been on a security check mission near the Peace Tribuo. At the time there were rumors going around the Army Headquarters that the King of Crescendore had ordered the extermination of the Melurians, so my father was sent to check on this."

"Yes…" the man said with a low, dark tone in his voice, " I…I know a little of this extermination plot. Tell me more."

"Well, he had gone to the Peace Tribuo to start his security check, and if you have ever been to the Tri-"

-"Yes I've been"

"Well, the entire protected area is part of a chain of large hills, giving grand views for miles of both sides of the Tribuo, and while he was there checking and observing the security of the Calduron side, he could see the flames and smoke in the distance. The rumors seemed to be true, or at least there was definitely something strange going on there. It looked like the borders between Crescendore and Meluria were in flames 'cause he could see the smoke rising far in the distance. My father believed that the Crescendore Army had indeed actually gone to destroy the country. Not only that, he could see several battalions of Crescendorean troops patrolling their entire side of the Tribuo border. It didn't make sense to him, even if Crescendore was planning to ransack Meluria-"

"Which they did," the man said interrupted.

"Yeah, they did… but even so, there was no reason at all for the Crescendore king to have so many soldiers guarding the border. It was a very suspicious matter, so my father sent a messenger back to his commander, the Brigadier General at headquarters, only to get a letter back two days later, with the Brigadier General telling my father that if he were to start sharing such information to anyone else that he would be treated as a conspirator, and would be arrested. Everyone knows the Brigadier General was a shady character, and when he sent this message to my father, he immediately became worried."

The man was very intrigued by this story, "So what did your father do? I assume he gathered witnesses and reported it to the King like any intelligent man would."

"Yes," Cyril replied, "He did exactly that. And his witness was King Elrick himself and several top commanders of the Legionnaires, including the Brigadier General from the Army.." The man had a very surprised look on his face. He was indulging himself deeply in the story.

"When they arrived, the Crescendore Army must've already been getting ready for a siege against Calduron because now, from several battalions acting as patrol, there were several dozen battalions in formation practicing combat drills, and trebuchets began rolling into the Tribuo fields. King Elrick agreed with my father, saying that the Crescendore Army could possibly be planning a surprise attack against Calduron. They returned to the capital the next morning, where the king requested my father to find out as much as he possibly could about Crescendore and to plan defenses for Calduron in case they did try and attempt an attack."

The man interceded, "And that's why you were at the library. Your father was researching on Crescendore, and you were gathering books for him, yes?"

"Yeah…that's a much easier way to say it," Cyril replied, "So now you know why I was there, what about yourself?"

"Eh…well, I'm afraid my story is not as interesting as yours," he explained, "As you mentioned earlier, you saw me with a man, Professor Yustave. I was his pupil at the time. We had just traveled from Meluria only days before the Crescendore Army invaded the country. Broyer's library is quite famous for its collection of ancient texts from the times when the Ponderers still traveled freely in search of knowledge, and the Professor and I were reading up on their literature."

Cyril had a confused look on his face, "Ponderers? What are Ponderers?"

The man grinned his toothy grin in delight, as if excited to tell Cyril about them.

"Have you heard of the country of Pondus? Supposedly its exact location is hidden in the mountains of the Eastern continent…" the man asked.

"I have heard of the country, but I was told it was just a legend…a scholarly country, full of philosophers, sorcerers-"

"No." the man sternly declared, "Ponderers are nothing like any sorcerer. Scholars, theologians, thespians, philosophers…But nothing anywhere near a sorcerer."

Cyril was a bit shocked by the seriousness of the tone in the mans words, "Well, you must have heard the legends as well… Ponderers using some sort of sorcery in past ages at times of war…"

"No, no…that's absolutely false. It's because of those stories that Ponderers are persecuted all across Ananthea these days," the man said with a look of despair on his face, " Its true yes, that there was once a group of Ponderers who had used their knowledge in countless evil ways. They were known only by the symbols they wore on the back of their shawls. Five of them total, each with a different symbol. A former great Ponderer named Alexander lead the group. He was recognized as having a symbol of a snake curled into a spiral. Because Pondus is cut off from the rest of civilization, they have spent generations mastering themselves and their small world. Eons of study, observation, and great philosophical breakthroughs have lead the Ponderers to be near masters of science and spirituality. By understanding nature and themselves, they were able to connect their minds and souls to the world, enabling them to use nature in ways no other civilization on Ananthea ever could. You may have heard of something called Venificus?"

Cyril shook his head, "…Some sort of ancient word?"

"It's a word from an ancient dialect originating from the Pondus civilization. They say it came from the first language given down by God to the men who eventually founded Pondus and another…lost, ancient city somewhere else in Ananthea…but that city is unknown to anyone. The language is known as Domino Lingua , and the word Venificus…in its most simple and understandable form, means magic. You see, God created all we know, of course, but how did he create it? And how were the Ponderers able to use Venificus…?" Cyril had a blank look on his face as he listened in total awe. "…Well, according to myth, the language that God gave to the founders of Pondus was indeed his own words that he used to create everything in this universe. This language, if understood properly and practiced diligently over time, can give a man the power of God himself..."

He paused, staring at Cyril then awkwardly back at the floor, expecting a reaction, but Cyril was trapped in the story he continued with his explanation Pondus.

"…Over the millennia, Ponderers have shaped Ananthea. Supposedly, they would travel from Pondus to m…eh –cough cough-excuse me, sorry…they would travel to this other lost city, and while traveling, some would settle in other parts of the land and new civilizations would develop from these settlements. Because of the circumstances that came with the change in environment, the change of knowledge, and change of culture through thousands of years, most of these civilizations lost Domino Lingua to time and circumstances, but, the Ponderers and the inhabitants of the lost city are supposed to be the only beings left on Ananthea that still know Domino Lingua and how to use Venificus..."

The man stopped for a moment as he saw that Cyril's face was becoming contorted, either due to his confusion or the fact that it was beaten terribly.

"So, what about this Alexander?" Cyril asked.

"…According to legend, Alexander was one these Ponderers that traveled Ananthea. But he was in search of inspiration to create new spells for himself rather than knowledge and understanding of the world. His true past and his life are still a mystery, but there are many claims as to how to he came to power. Just like all the others who had vacated Pondus, he traveled far and wide established his own settlement down near the swamps of what is now Loryndia. He needed to bring up his village in order for it to survive, so he traveled more and learnt of the different settlements and cities that rose around Eastern Ananthea and he began communicating and making acquaintances with surrounding villages. That's how he met the four other sorcerers. They were supposedly all former leaders from different settlements that they had been built in different regions of South Eastern Ananthea. Alexander wanted power and to form a kingdom that would reign over all the newly claimed territories. He made efforts to cut deals with the other leaders of different settlements all across. The problem for Alexander was that most Ponderer scholars believed that no man should ever have dominance over another and should instead live in peace as equals, so they dismissed the idea of a large sovereign kingdom. But those four other unknown scholars who were from South Eastern Ananthea each wanted a stake in Alexander's vision, so they joined together and they lead preposterous lives attacking far out settlements and creating wars between newly formed nations that arose and collapsed under their influence over time."

"How is any of this true?" he Cyril asked malevolently, "I've never heard of anything like this…"

"No, you have…" he replied contentiously, "you see, these were the ages that gave birth to the people we now know as legends and where our ancient mythologies and fables come from. I know you have heard of the Six Swords of Serenity…"

Cyril shook his head in arrogance, not even paying attention to what the man was saying anymore.

He continued, "Six swords that were hand crafted by six unknown blacksmiths that were supposed to be an offering to God for peace. Each sword was imbued with their own potential power to control one of the four basic physical elements or two basic human elements; earth, water, air, fire, love, and hate…the elements that shape the world we live in. Only the ones who are adepts of the nature of the blade can use it to its full potential though. The blacksmiths were of unknown origin and how they created the weapons is unworldly. And like with all myths, the blacksmiths disappeared with time and the location of the swords were lost with them as well."

Cyril jumped in a bit interested, "Love and hate, that's an interesting concept…"

The man nodded his head and went on telling more tales, "Or the fabled bejeweled artifacts that Alexander and the Sorcerers created to hold all their sins within."

"No…"

" It's a curious story…Professor Searle told me that they had to make these items to hold their memories and experiences of evil deeds, because they had done so much that it began to ravage their bodies and spirits and was eating away at their hearts, so they each took an item that was dear to them and transferred their past wickedness into it using an unknown spell they each had created. It's said that if all these artifacts were gathered, a man could have the power of all five sorcerers, but no one knows what the artifacts actually are due the fact that the Sorcerers did not want anyone to find out and use it against them, because if that happened to them, then they would have nothing to store their wretched spirit in and they would simply die from becoming corrupted souls. And if true, any man that possessed each item would be infused with all the evil locked inside, and the amount of treachery and corruption these artifacts carry within them would tear the man's heart and mind apart."

Cyril challenged the man's story, "That's ridiculous. No item contains evil. It's only the individual that holds dominance over the item that can be good or evil."

"Well," he thought, "That's a good observation and a somewhat true reality…but you don't have a true sense nor do you even have the capacity to accept the stories I'm telling, so you be able to comprehend this properly…"

"How am I supposed to believe fairytales?" he laughed back.

The man shook his head in ignorance and continued to try and convince Cyril of his stories"…Then there are the people that we now consider our ancient heroes, like Rhyandal Olpheria, the great archer who had the most outstanding dexterity and could fire two hundred arrows in less than a minute, always hitting his targets."

Cyril burst into laughter, "Hah hah! Yes, yes… I used to love when my father told me that story!"

" Then you must know," the man resumed, either not getting or forgetting Cyril's sarcasm, " Rhyandal was the only known man to have ever struck Alexander, but he was killed after a sorcerer had forced a rock slide that crushed him and his group of warriors. Another of the greats was Felix Enrayin, the noble fisherman who came from the small collection of islands known as the Delya Archipelago west of the Syarkonian States. He became a legend after fighting against Alexander's invincible Ashes Army when he killed over 4000 of Alexander's incarnations singlehandedly before being taken over by one of the sorcerers mind spells that drove him insane on the battlefield and cost him his life."

The man's eye dazzled as he imagined with great detail the images of the heroes, "A wicked end, that's for sure… And of course there was the brother and sister duo, Sigurther and Kaminey Narada. They were half-breeds of a Ponderer and Nivean tribal warrior from the Nivean Forest that chokes the Principality of Syarkonian States today. Rumor has it that their father was one of the Sorcerers that ruled the eastern most part of the Syarkonia. Kaminey and Sigurther were two amazing fighters that were able to mix Venificus and traditional Nivean war combat into their fighting style. They were each other's opposite. Sigurther was the warrior and Kaminey had more of the Ponderer's traits, but when they fought together, they could fuse their spirits to combine each other's strengths and destroy any enemy that were unfortunate enough to stand in their paths, that was until they met their end when they fought their father in the Pondus Valley. Supposedly their bodies were frozen and kept separated inside caves on both sides of the valley."

This was all too much to Cyril. A story about ancient civilizations, god handing down his language, Six Swords of Serenity, Venificus…it all sounded like a mad mans fantasy. Sure he had learned about these legendary heroes, but that was only in books at school. They were myths, created by ancient civilizations as stories and metaphors and inspiration. One thing that did stick to him was the jeweled artifacts. That ring he found might have some relevance to the man's wild story, or it could just be a ring made in honor of the legend. In the end, it was still probably just a razy man's ranting.

"How long exactly have you been in Arroya?" Cyril asked, eyeing the man with great suspicion.

"Three days, and no, I know what you're thinking. The fumes radiating from this rat den have not scrambled my mind, at least not yet. I'm not supposed to tell you this, but seeing as we're both going to rot in these cages, it wouldn't seem to make any difference…remember the old man I was with?"

"What of him?"

"Professor Searle…he was, believe it or not a…a modern day Ponderer, and I, well, he chose me to be his pupil." The man said proudly, "I told you we had left Meluria only days before the invasion. The truth about it, was that he had come to Meluria to study the arts and sciences the country was known for. He thought maybe there might have been some link to Meluria and Pondus. I was sitting outside a local tailor's shop when we first met."

"What were you doing in Meluria? Are you Melurian?" Cyril asked, still with great skepticism.

The mans eye widened as he stuttered, "No no. I, I, uh, well…my parents had abandoned me in Meluria a year before I even met Professor Searle." He spoke with chopped words, " 'Cause you see…my, my parents, they were merchants, and…well you know how greedy merchants can be…so much so that they would abandon their own son to get onto a ship sailing towards the Syarkonian States."

"So, they just left you…that doesn't make sense…"

"No no, you see, ships that sail back and forth from the Syarkonian States to Meluria take a lot of risk crossing the Infinite Expanse, so most ships would only be hired as merchant vessels, making upwards to 300,000 Crores per round trip. My parents, wanting to go to the Syarkonian States, tried to find a captain who would take them aboard, but like I said, merchants can be quite greedy, so naturally the captain asked a lot of money from them…10,000 Crores each. My parents only had 26,000 Crores, so they left me 6000 Crores and went on their way."

Cyril's tone eased a bit, "So, you ran into this Professor…?"

"Yes, and he took me under his wing… seeing as I was an orphan, and from there we left to Broyer to read what was left of the surviving text the Ponderers wrote in this region. That's how I came to know all I know now...over sometime of course..."

Cyril was still doubtful of the man's story but he didn't want to come off like he was interrogating the man. "We've both shared so much but I never properly introduced myself. My name is Cyril D' Mires."

There seemed to be some gaps in his story and Cyril was still interested in finding out more about this suspicious man. "Where exactly do you come from then?"

He replied nervously, "Eh, w-well it's difficult to elaborate exactly…h-how about yourself?"

Cyril took a long deep breath, "It's been a long time since I even thought back to my home…" he murmured and closed his eyes, "…I was born in the capital city of Cenuaral in Calduron…."

The man thought diligently about who Cyril was. The last name struck a match within his mind.

"You said D' Mires…your father, was he Arden D' Mires?" the man asked. Cyril nodded his head. "Well well…my suspicions were correct. The man who killed the Savior of Calduron…murdered in cold blood before the start of the civil war…"

Cyril glanced sadly down to the dirty ground, almost as if in shame.

"…And I'm locked here in Arroya right next to the son himself. If you don't mind me asking, is it true you had hanged him? It won't matter if you tell me, we'll both die here anyways."

"Not even conceivable. I'd never even thought of my father in such a way…I thought he was invincible…" Cyril was fierce with passion, "I loved my father!…it was a conspiracy!…I know it was…"

"That's quite a statement there Cyril, a lot of people have died for saying such things," the man joked.

He shook his defiantly, "No. I know there was something more. After Calduron claimed victory over the war, there was a large shift in the ranks of the military. Like you said, the King named my father the "Savior of Calduron" for his efforts in preparations and strategic planning, promoting him to the High Constable of the Calduron Army and personal strategic advisor to the King. If you were in Calduron at the time, without a doubt you would've been part of the festivities and parades dedicated to our victory. At every event, the King would give praise to the soldiers and he would have my father at his side, honoring him with distinction and a place in Calduron's history. The King treated my father like a fellow King and they became very good friends. I even got to know King Elrick pretty well over the short period…he always invited us to stay at the Cenuaral Castle with him…"

His voice was shaky and his shut his eyes tightly as he tried to hold back the emotions that swelled over him. He took a minute to calm himself before continuing.

"…You can imagine how the Brigadier General felt when he heard of my father's promotion and newfound status in the kingdom, him being the one who told my father he would be arrested if he even spoke a word about his sightings in the field, and especially how much jealousy and hatred filled his damned soul when he was to later be relieved by my father of his position because of the threat he made prior to the war. It just. Makes. Sense."

"In a way, I suppose," said the man, considering the possibility of Cyril's story. He went on, "The General always had his own personal desires ahead of his duties as an officer of the Army. My father used to tell me of this. I may not know for a FACT as to whether or not the General was behind his murder, but I have that feeling. And not too long after his murder, the General had gone missing. Not to mention there was a military coup as well, only WEEKS after my fathers death. There's something not right about it all, I know it. I swear, if I ever have the chance to meet the General, I'll rip his heart out without a second thought. I don't care if he had anything to do with anything or not…"

"So you never even met the Brigadier General before?" the man asked.

"No," Cyril replied, "My father didn't want me to be around the vicinity of such a man. I only know him from what my father and his friends would say about him."

"Hmm…" The man added, "and I heard you've been a fugitive of the country since your father's death…wanted, dead or in pieces, heh...moronic soldiers…"

Cyril frowned in anger and rattled his chains, "According to the government and loyalists, I'm a murderer and a traitor…so I've been running since then, and they've been right behind me all of the time," he said with frustration as he began to pull at his chains in anger, " Because of them, I came to the Isle of Luxus…this heartless island. I've been living here in hiding for nearly five years trying to cope with being a son put to false shame and indignification. All I was trying to do was live out the rest of my life and in one single night, I'm a prisoner at Arroya!"

The man nodded his head, feeling the same sorrow Cyril felt.

"Hm… Listen…I admire your passion, and from listening to you, I get the feeling you might even have something real going against the new leadership. In other words, I think I believe you. I apologize for bringing up such a touchy subject, and I still have yet to introduce myself. My name is Edmund Suvanna, and I'm honored to meet the son of the Savior of Calduron. I envy your father's ingenuity very much."

"Heh…" Cyril smirked, "He would've laughed after hearing that."

Edmund looked up from the floor with an exceptionally toothy grin.

"So tell me Cyril, how did you end up in this animal cage?"

Cyril proceeded to tell Edmund of the previous night. They spoke a great deal until Edmund had fallen asleep out of pure exhaustion, just a side effect of hunger and dehydration. Cyril on the other hand could not do so, as he was kept awake by the ghastly odor of the prison and a few crazed men who were still talking into thick polluted air that was trapped in the chamber, trying to oust the imaginary guards from their idleness. Cyril observed a mouse that continued to scurry back and forth across the floor, stopping to sniff his feet as they dangled just a hairs width above the ground. He turned to look outside the barred window, but didn't have much luck seeing too far outside due to the thick smog. Finally, after many hours of swinging in circles on his chain like a monkey would on a branch, Cyril eased himself, and drifted off to sleep.

…Vomica Cruor Voro Diligo Eternus Vita

Somnium Verus!

…Agar Tuilindo Mela Oira Coia

Olos Anwa!

…Creatura Atrum Vorago Amnis Adeo Vita!

Cyril…

Cyril…….

Cyril awoke abruptly, breathing hard with sweat dripping from the tip of his nose and chin.

"Cyril!" Edmund yelled. The sight of Cyril waking brought sudden relief to him, "Cyril, my friend! You were shaking violently for quite some time!"

Cyril peered at Edmund with the corner of his eye and looked back down, still panting, thinking of what he saw and heard in his dream.

"Are you alright?" He asked with deep concern.

Cyril replied very weakly, "Yeah…yeah…it was just a dream…"

"Just a dream? I'd say that surpassed even a nightmare! Are you sure you're alright?"

"I'll live," he said regaining his composure, "Say, Edmund…"

"Yes?"

"…Do you know-"

Cyril's sentence was cut off when they were caught off guard by loud bang that echoed through the chambers. A bright, blinding light shown down from the staircase, and you could see the elongated shadow of the soldiers appear on the floor below. Sounds of the men's rambunctious laughter came from the top of the staircase. The kling klang of the soldiers armor rattled the prisoners back into life as they began to descend. A group of men stood at the bottom of the staircase as one of them lit a torch, continuing on down the hall towards Cyril and Edmund. The other prisoners began screaming curses at the soldiers as they walked down the hall, but the soldiers just laughed and banged their shields against the bars. There sounded to be a woman's voice in their midst, but her identity was obscured as she was hidden behind the large group of soldiers.

"That one," the woman said, pointing her long, bony finger at Cyril. Four soldiers stood to the side in front of Edmunds cage as three other soldiers walked up to Cyril's, one of them taking out a ring of keys. He was having a hard time trying to find the right one to unlock the gate. "C'mon man, hurry up and open it you dunce." One soldier said as the guard flipped through key after key, trying to find the matching set. After an awkward two minutes of try and fail, the soldier finally located the right key and unlocked the gate. The gate creaked eerily as two other men entered the cage. Each one stood on either side of Cyril with their swords drawn to his neck. The woman walked into the cage after them and stood in front of Cyril, looking him up and down.

"Well good morning Sire Desire."

It was the woman from the previous night. She grimaced a little in disgust when she saw the state he was in.

"No hello or good morning? Not even a nod? Rude little pest. Listen to me peasant, I'm not going to play games with you. I want my ring and I want it NOW!" She demanded, stomping her foot. The other prisoners began whistling to her, calling her like you would a dog.

-"come here pretty pretty…"

She glared at them and back at Cyril.

But Cyril didn't say a word, not even a small glance at her to acknowledge her presence. He was too busy watching the soldiers beside him as they put down their swords and removed their gloves.

One of the soldiers next to him turned to the woman.

"Lady Juliana?" he said.

She nodded to the soldier. He took his shield and rammed it into Cyril's ribs, cracking a few. He yelled out in agony, coughing up blood, choking on it as he tried to gasp for air. The other guard beside him put down his weapon and shield, walked in front of Cyril and punched him directly on the gash on his cheek, tearing it back open. Blood quickly began to pour out from the wound. Cyril started making mad grunts and noises, trying to hold back tears as the pain began to take its toll on his body.

"You savages are a disgraceful breed!" Edmund yelled from his cage, only able to watch as both soldiers took turns hitting Cyril.

"You shut your cursed mouth you insignificant buck tooth liar!"Lady Juliana yelled back at him, "Don't think we have forgotten about you, little worm. My father will be coming to see you later, and you'd better hope he kills you on the spot, because when he's finished with you, you'll be begging for death, and the last thing he'll ever do is oblige to the demands of a disgusting little rat like yourself."

Edmund stared at her with blazing hatred In his eye.

"As for you…" she glared intently at Cyril, "As for you, I will return only once more with my father as soon as he arrives, so from now until then, you had better think damn well hard as to what you did with my ring." Lady Juliana spat on him, storming off down the chamber. Both soldiers struck Cyril one last time before leaving the cage, the other soldier locking the gate behind them as they exited Cyril's cage.

Cyril hung from his chain, dangling with no sense left in him. He was knocked out completely by the last two hits he received from the soldiers, blood all over his face and neck, mixing with the dirt and sweat. Droplets of the concoction fell from his chin. Edmund watched quietly from the side, shaking his head in pity for Cyril and in frustration at the woman and soldiers. He screamed and cursed at the soldiers, who were already up and out of the building.

A few hours later, Cyril came to. Slowly he pulled his head out of the slouch, his body shaking tremendously from the pain and weakness.

"Cyril," Edmund spoke, "Are you alright?"

"-Cough Cough-…that's the second time in two days you had to ask me that…" Cyril replied with a fading grin. Edmund smiled lightly, "…That was the woman from the other night wasn't it? This ring seems unusually important to a woman of her class…even more interesting is that she and seven other soldiers actually came down here as well…"

Cyril was very weak and had a hard time breathing because of the blow to his ribs, yet, he gathered the little amount of strength he had to speak, "I…I dropped it – cough cough -… after the fight…I dropped it…and…" He coughed violently, blood seeping from the corner of his mouth, "Raaahhgh!...and the ring… rolled under a…a beggar…I left it there"

"I know it's hard, but please, could you tell me the characteristics of the ring?" Edmund asked with great interest.

"…I…was about to ask you, just before they came… the ring…it…it was ruby encrusted…a snake…and four symbols were engraved…" Edmund's eye widened, "…and words I'd never heard before."

"What were these words?"

Cyril thought hard, "…Novus…Fatima…No…Novus…ahh, I can't…remember completely…"

"Novus Fatima…Novus Fatima…" Edmund repeated to himself.

"Do you know what it means?" Cyril asked.

"It very intriguing to be quite honest Cyril…very, very intriguing. Novus and Fatima are words from Domino Lingua!" he exclaimed. This caught Cyril's attention. He looked up from the ground at Edmund.

"Yes…I've read it before in one of my Professors textbooks. Novus means "New", Fatima means "Destiny" or also "Fate", and if I'm correct about this ring, the last two words are Novus Vita, meaning "New Life"." Cyril put these words together, "Yeah! Novus Vita…New Destiny, New Life…what does it mean?"

There was a glint in Edmund's eye as he began to speak, "I had only learned of the five Ponderers who had turned sorcerers from my Professor. This was when I first became his pupil. It was supposed to…uh, nevermind. Anyways, when we went to Broyer Library, I had picked up one book called the Magnum Opus. The Magnum Opus is one the oldest surviving texts from the age of the Ponderers, it has some of the Domino Lingua written in it, and some old charts and diagrams by the Ponderers, but I was still very young when I read this book, so I didn't pay as much attention as I should have...so foolish… but I do remember…on the first page was a drawing of the five symbols of the sorcerers, the snake being in the middle and a different symbol in each corner. I asked Professor Searle what these drawings were, and he explained to me that those were the symbols that the sorcerers had adopted onto their shawls. Each symbol represented an element: air, earth, water, and fire, and the snake representing man. Upon this new revelation with the ring, I believe there may be a connection to either the ring and the book, or the ring and the sorcerers, or even a connection between all three. Or it could even go DEEPER than that, god who knows…" He went on ranting about the possibilities.

"…so…what do the words mean?" Cyril asked quietly.

"New Destiny, New Life…" Edmund paused for a bit, "It would be quite farfetched of me to make such a hypothesis, but I think it could possibly be part of a spell. Now…I'm not really sure, but as a scientist, I have the right to guess. I faintly remember reading these words in the Magnum Opus…Ho! Cyril!"

Cyril shook his head.

"You said the ring was ruby encrusted, no?" he asked excitedly, with Cyril answering with another shake of the head. "The Magnum Opus, It had very small ruby pendants on the binding and borders! Ha! Do you see? I think it just might be more than simple coincidence. Cyril, this could be an amazing finding if we could link the two! The book and the ring…there's most definitely some sort of connection if not a total one. Both have the same symbols, and the Magnum Opus had the same words as the ring somewhere in the text. We HAVE to get our hands on these two items!" Edmund began swingin with excitement. There was definitely something of great importance he saw in this. "…I mean, can you imagine?! What if that ring belonged to one of the sorcerers? Or what if it belonged to one of the first Ponderers! My god…Cyril…"

"Sure, okay Edmund. So what about this connection? –Cough Cough-…why does it matter to me…" Cyril said, completely denouncing all Edmund had just told him. "To you Cyril, it may mean nothing, but to me, this is what I live for. To solve the mystery of the ancient Ponderers, Domino lingua, and Venificus…To learn and use it to bring peace! To bridge the gap between man and God! I mean…there are just so many possibilities! The Ponderers of the past did exactly this, promote peace and spread the message of truth, but after the sorcerers misused Venificus, the common man turned against the Ponderers because they thought all who possessed the Domino Lingua were dangerous and a threat to their nations…and now, any trace of the Ponderers and all their knowledge is gone! The only thing we have left is the libraries around the world, where their works can still be found. But its rare to find an authentic Pondus manuscript because all things that have any relations to the Pondus civilization have been condemned by the leaders of all the nations of Ananthea and destroyed or burned to ashes. All thanks to the evils that Alexander and his sorcerers brought forth in their time," Edmund paused for a moment and shook his head in grief, " Cyril…help me. Help me find the ring.. If we get it, there may be a chance we can redeem the Pondus civilization and Calduron from itself. This world is slowly turning to chaos because they are afraid or have been denied the truth. They've been mislead by their own leaders! Just think about it Cyril, really, think. Just by bringing order to Calduron, its prestige can be restored and the entire Western continent could return back to the way it used to 400 years ago, total peace, and total harmony. We can unite Calduron and Crescendore and rid the false Peace Tribuo that only brings about division between the people…bring to the people the truth about the false leadership!" he emphatically tried to convince Cyril, "… and we could do it together, you and I! It makes almost perfect sense for you to be a part of it too, seeing as you are the son of the Savior of Calduron. Besides King Elrick, your father-"

"Come on Edmund!" Cyril yelled, "You've truly lost yourself!"

"NO! Listen to me Cyril! Besides King Elrick, your father was the most appreciated man in Calduron. He had the respect of everyone. EVERYONE! Calduron owes everything to this brilliant man. But the night he was murdered, all that was gone and you were left with the shame, and the blame, and later disappeared. Only a week after, the King was sadly to be killed during the coup. Just think, if your father was still alive, logically speaking, the King would've made him his successor."

"That's ridiculous…" said Cyril said shaking his head.

"No… not all. How many kids did King Elrick have? None. How many siblings? None. And so who did he trust most in the country? Who else was loved and adored as much as the King? YOUR FATHER. If he had been alive after the coup, he most definitely would've been the one to take the throne after the King was killed, BUT, since he was murdered prior to the coup, who do you think the King would have looked to next?"

Cyril dropped his head and smirked.

"Exactly. YOU, Cyril. The son of the Savior. A big hearted child who followed in his father's footsteps, who wanted to be just like his father and who loved his country just as much".

"I despise Calduron…" Cyril said with disgust.

"Fine, so be it, you hate Calduron, but the King would not have known and he admired you as much as he did your father, and I'm sure this hatred of Calduron wasn't even present before your father's murder, am I right?"

Cyril gazed down, sighing deeply.

"…There would've been no other better option... but of course, when your father was murdered, you were framed for it, and you, knowing you had no part in any way but under prosecution by Calduron and Its military, did the only thing an innocent man under the death penalty could do and ran away, leaving the King to himself without any reliable legacy. And soon after you became a fugitive, the coup took place."

Cyril couldn't stop shaking his head. It was unbelievable, this Edmunds mind. He looked up and smiled at Edmund, "Your insane...brilliantly insane…"

That toothy grin appeared on Edmunds face again.

"So listen, if we were able to use Venificus to restore the Ponderers place, and we were able to bring stability to the Western continent by revealing the leadership, the people of Calduron would have to rethink everything they've been tricked into. They'll remember that you are the son of the Savior of Calduron…the reincarnation, come back to save Calduron from itself. If you were to be part of such undertakings for the sake of the people, it would be mighty greedy of them if they didn't at least take a moment to listen to your side of story. In the end, all you need is to get your word out, because that's the thing you could never do up until this point. And with the people hearing the truth about the murder, their brainwashed minds will be flushed and they'll be able to decide on what's true or not. Respect and honor would be given back to you, and it's possible that you could even take your rightful place in Calduron…as King."

It all came rushing in, filling Cyril's mind to the brink of insanity. Both of their hearts began beating with tremendous speed. Ideas flashed before their eyes of the possibility of a true, peaceful Ananthea. Together, they could bring the world all it ever wanted, harmony. Cyril thought intensely about it all. Of course this task would be probably the greatest ever assimilated ever since the end of the Great War of the Two Kingdoms.. And he couldn't leave out the fact the Calduron was in the hands of the military at the moment, which would make it near impossible to even get back in the country without being noticed, let alone the idea of him even being King and all the other possibilities of this grand plan. It just seemed like desperate hope.

"How?...I mean…this is so much simpler when you say it, but when you truly do think about the task at hand that you're proposing, I mean, it makes me think again if you truly are mad. It's impossible…" Said Cyril, feeling very confused and distraught about it all, "…you have to think this through properly…"

"I have!" he insisted, "I know what I speak of! We already have leads about the artifacts and with some time I'll be able to accurately defend Pondus and help the entire world with the Ponderer's knowledge. You on the other hand will free Calduron of the military's grasp. It's possible! We just need to get out of this place!" he shouted and wildly pulled at his chains. He calmed himself before speaking again.

"Cyril…When you die, will you die knowing what you could've done, or will you die knowing you did what you could? Hm? Cyril?"

Cyril looked up at his chains, those damn chains. The left side of his chest was swollen almost twice the size as it normally was, pulsating with horrendous pain. His face and neck was completely covered in blood, not to mention the large cut on his cheek was still bleeding a little bit as well. His entire body was shaking from the collected agony of all the torture from the past two or three days, he wasn't really sure.

Edmund's plan was far from clear, and even further from possible. But in the end, what difference would it make? Edmund had a point- he wasn't doing anything with his life, and on top of that, his life was most likely going to end in this prison, so why not just let go and jump in the deep end? Apparently that was all he needed to convince himself.

He turned his head to Edmund, looking him directly in the eye, and smiled.

"My ribs are cracked, I can barely see cause my eyes are swollen from all the beating, I don't think I can even walk cause I'm so damn weak…I've lost so much blood that what I can barely see is nothing but a haze…and on top of all this, I'm chained to the ceiling of a cage that's inside a prison that's supposed to be impossible to break out of even if by some miracle I got these bloody chains off my damn hands…" he sighed, "so tell me Edmund… how are we getting out of this place?" His eyes fixed on the empty view outside the barred window.

That familiar big toothed grin appeared on Edmunds face.

"I've got some ideas."

CHAPTER 3

A breeze blew through the windows bringing in the stomach wrenching smell of the polluted waters that surrounded the Isle of Luxus, as if the tremendous odor from the prison itself wasn't enough.

Cyril was resting, waking every ten minutes or so, groaning and coughing from the ever present pain that seemed to make permanent residence in his body. Edmund was caught in deep thought the entire time, thinking about exactly how he would be able to get both of them out of this death trap. He kept looking up at his hands and looking back down as if in grief, sighing after every idea for escape he thought of ended in failure when he tried to run it through his mind. The stress was very weakening to his spirit, because no matter what he thought of, there was always something in the plan that was either missing or just totally impossible to do. With anguish in his eye, he watched a mouse that would repeatedly scurry across the floor of Edmunds cage.

Cyril awoke slowly from his sleep, yawning slightly but then flinching in pain from his sore jaw.

"Ugh…" he moaned, " have you come up with a plan yet?"

"…If only I was your father," Edmund replied woefully, "He could've gotten out of here the same day he came in."

"Heh, you overestimate my father," Cyril chuckled, then coughed intensely.

"Cyril…look, I have a plan…I don't know if it will work or not, but I have to ask you if you have full trust in me."

Cyril peered at Edmunds' eye, thinking about what could be behind the hair covering the other side.

"I never have full trust in anyone anymore, but if you think your plan will work, then I have no objection…tell me what you're thinking."

Edmund looked around his cage, observing the gate and window, then looked to Cyril's cage, calculating what could be possibly done.

"Okay. I've been thinking about the woman, she said she would return her with her father once he arrives. She said he was coming here especially for me, which makes me believe I may know who he is."

"How do you know?"Cyril asked.

"It's a long story, and I don't know how much time we have left so just listen. If my thoughts are correct, and that man is who I think he is, then that woman will not be here, nor will there be any soldiers with him…"

"Why wouldn't there be?"

"You'll come to find out when he speaks to me." Edmund whispered, " What I need to you do is act like you're dying. Play the part well too, Cyril, because you will be the key to unlocking us from this prison. If things go according to plan, I will be in your cage, and you will have to find the right moment to attack. You don't have to kill him, although it would be easier for us if you did. Just get me enough time to get us an opening and soon as I get it we'll be gone."

Cyril looked a bit puzzled by Edmunds plan. "there's two problems…to this plan. One, I practically am… dying, so…I don't know how…how I'm supposed to put up an offensive against this guy. Two, these walls must be at least two feet thick –Cough Cough-…by the time you broke through, there will be fifty guards swarming all over us…"

The sound of a creaking door interrupted Edmund before he could respond. The light from above shown blindingly once again. They could hear the deafening noise from the bustling city outside become muffled as the doors slowly closed. The prisoners began screaming curses again and pulling at their chains like animals until a man stopped at the bottom of the staircase, the sight of him quieting the prisoners until the room became absolutely silent.

"That's him," Edmund whispered. He was alone just as Edmund predicted. " You have to trust me and stick to the plan."

Deep, ominous footsteps echoed through the halls as the heavy feet of the man pounded the ground, one after another, slowly coming their way.

"Remember, wait for the right time. Improvise if you must, and wait for me to tell you to come, as soon as you hear me, go for the window, but DO NOT let your guard down even for a second."

The man's figure passed by Cyril's cage, as he hung pretending to be lifeless. He slightly opened an eye to get a glimpse of the man. It wasn't too clear to Cyril, but he could see a large man standing very tall, maybe seven feet, with large broad shoulders and a huge torso. He had a thick beard, but Cyril could not get a good look at the rest of his face. His hands were behind his back as he walked by. He wore a blue beret on his head, and what looked to be a blue and white military uniform, the kind that a high ranking official would wear to Gala, like the one he remembered seeing once at party the King threw after the war. A large broadsword was strapped to his back. Cyril closed his eyes and began moaning and coughing, trying to play his part, as he hung from his chain looking like he would pass in a matter of minutes. The great man stopped in front of Edmunds cage and turned to him, with his strong intimidating aura collecting in his eyes and focused on Edmunds eye as they glared at each other for a few moments. The man had very rough, low voice, "Hello…Edmund."

"I've been looking for you," he said firmly, "And here you are, trapped in a cage like a zoo animal, and me being the only spectator who cares to come feed you." The man laughed loud and menacingly. Edmund only watched the man as he spoke. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a key, unlocking the gate and stepping inside. "A rude boy you are, Edmund. That master of yours at least had the courtesy to respond." He said trying to provoke Edmund, but all he continued to glare at the man with murderous intent.

"Yes, that old man…very smart he was. But apparently not as smart as I thought"-

"Don't dare insult Professor Searle!" Edmund yelled fiercely.

"Ah! Ha ha! I knew you weren't deaf." The man grabbed Edmund by the neck with his large robust hand. "Hear me now, Edmund, because this will be the only chance I will give you. Come…come work for me. Say yes and I'll free you now from this graveyard."

"N…never…" Edmund sputtered out from between the mans strong grip around his neck. He let go of him, Edmund gasping for air.

"That damn fool Searle made the same mistake! DON'T BE A FOOL! I know you want peace…and so do I! With your abilities we can both bring stability and peace to the Western Continent! Imagine the union of Calduron and Crescendore…one giant nation, the most powerful in the world!" the man insisted, "Help me, and I will help you, Edmund. I'll give you anything you want. I'll have my men fetch you all the Pondus texts in the world-"

"Don't try and bribe me. What's this union of nations and peace you speak of?! You want me so you can use me and my knowledge, that's all! Your idea of peace is through fear and intimidation, and peace born of fear is not peace at all. It only breeds more hate. Your tyrannical rule will only cause more suffering for the people!"

The man shook his head, "Disappointing, just like the old man…how cliché. Fine then. I won't waste my time here, there's bound to be more where you came from somewhere In this world." He stepped outside the cage turning to lock it, but before he did, Edmund stopped him. "Wait..." he looked at Cyril, "This man next to me, he also was a student of Professor Searle."

"Don't be so pathetic as to lie to me Edmund." The man barked as he began to lock the gate.

"No! I am not lying. I spoke to him only two days ago about it. He was a student of Professor Searle before I became his."

The man stopped turning the key and looked over to Cyril.

"Is that so…how is that possible?" he inquired.

Edmunds eye began to shine. " Before Professor Searle took me under his wing, this man was his pupil, but Professor dropped him because he noticed that the boy had an assimilation towards the darker, sorcery aspect of Venificus."

The man looked back and forth between Edmund and Cyril. Edmund's story had definitely caught his attention. The man unlocked the gate and stepped back inside. He drew his great sword and held it between Edmunds eyes. He looked back over to Cyril, who still playing his part, was hanging lifelessly with drool dripping from his mouth. "You, what's your name?" the man said. Edmund answered instead, "His name is Cyril. He can't speak…he's practically minutes away from passing.."

The man pushed his blade up to Edmund's throat, cutting him lightly with the blade's fine edge. "Then you're wasting my time." He said angrily, "Why are you even telling me any of this?"

"I…listen to me. I want to make a deal with you…"

"HA! YOU make a deal with ME!" the man boasted, " a sense of humor was something that old man lacked. It probably could've saved him…or at least postponed his death." Upon hearing this Edmund clenched his fists in anger but he tried to stay as calm as possible and hold his tongue.

"Please…I'm begging you!" Edmund said with despair, trying to coax the man into falling for his plan. The man looked at him fiercely and pressed the blade harder against Edmund's throat, "Speak."

"I to ever be your pet, but even so, I am still just an animal in this cage. This man next to me, Cyril, he may die in a matter of minutes, and when I spoke to him earlier, its obvious that he has an affinity towards sorcery like the Professor believed himself. Every user has an affinity towards light or dark based on their personality. He knows a little of Venificus, and the fact that Professor Searle wanted him to be his pupil at first means he has great potential."

"What are you getting at Edmund?! Get to the point! The stench of this place is making me feel very…unstable," the man said menacingly.

"Okay, okay, just listen…Cyril has the right abilities, all he needs is the resources, and he'll make a great slave for you," the man glared at Edmund as he spoke, "But, he will die if he doesn't get treatment right away, and I know a Venificus spell to heal his wounds right now." The man observed intently at Cyril. He understood what Edmund was getting at. Then, like a lighting strike, he cut the chain that held Edmund to the ceiling, causing him to drop to the floor. Edmund looked up at the man to see his great sword only inches from his eye, "And what is it you want in return?"

"After I heal him, you can set me back in the cage and tie my hands, but please, just don't let hang from the ceiling like that anymore! It torturous!" Edmund cried.

"We'll see… get up and go!" he told Edmund, pointing his sword out the gate and then behind Edmund's head as he walked past him. "Wait there," he ordered. With to powerful swings, the man chopped several bars from the top and bottom, allowing Edmund to enter through the hole. "These useless gates waste my time…Now go, do your magic." Edmund stepped through the hole slowly, trying to buy what little precious time he could to think about how he would get Cyril down from the chains. "Uh…First of all…I, I need him on the ground, I can't perform the spell properly with him hanging like this." He said quickly.

"What are you talking about, I know you can do it this way," the man replied, eyeing Edmund suspiciously.

"No, I have an earth attribute. You know, the four elements? Every person has their own attribute. I draw my energy from the earth, that's how I'm able to use Venificus…I wouldn't be able to do it properly while he's hanging like this, I would need to have the air attribute," Edmund was obviously lying his head off, but the man in all his ignorance didn't know the difference, so he cut Cyril down. Cyril fell hard and splashed into the small pool of blood that had collected under him, splattering blood on the man and Edmund's clothes and on the wall behind. Edmund held out his hands to the man. He cut the rope that tied them together.

"Ahhh…" Edmund said in relief after almost a week of having his hands tied, shaking them and clenching them to get the feeling back. He lay Cyril's back against the floor and straightened him out. Cyril opened his eyes just barely to get a view of the scenario he was in. When he looked at the man he was able to get a detailed view of his face. The right half looked like it had been charred by a serious fire, leaving it dark red and scarred. He also had an eye patch on the right eye, probably because it had been cooked by the fire. He was truly a terrifying and intimidating man.

"It takes time for me to conjure the energy for a spell, and he's also been injured severely from the waist up, so be patient." Edmund explained to the man.

"Don't think about"-

Edmund cut him off, "Only you are."

He took off his right glove. Cyril noticed he had a triangle tattooed on his palm, but he didn't pay much attention to it. Edmund began waving his arms over Cyril's body, and spoke smoothly and slowly in the language of Venificus.

Vigoratus Vulnus…Restituo Stipatores Vires…

He chanted the words, repeating them slowly.

Vigoratus Vulnus…Restituo Stipatores Vires…

A green aura radiated from Cyril's body. The swelling on his face and chest began to get smaller, and he could feel his ribs move back into place. But it was happening slowly, and the process was very painful as his body reorganized itself. The man was engrossed by the display as he watched in amazement. He stood behind Edmund and bent over to see as the cuts on Cyril's wounds slowly came together.

"…This is Venificus…" the man said in awe.

Vigoratus Vulnus…Restituo Stipatores Vires…

Vigoratus Vulnus…Restituo Stipatores Vires…

Beatus Per Vires!… Beatus Per Vires!… Beatus Per Vires!

Cyril's eyes opened wide with new life. He open and closed his fist and took deep breathes. He felt better than ever, and looked over to Edmund, signaling to him he was ok, but Edmund only looked back at him and continued to speaking.

Beatus Per Vires!… Beatus Per Vires!… Beatus Per Vires!

"That's enough! He looks fine." The man said, peering over Edmunds shoulder. And just as the man placed his head near Edmunds, Edmund, with his right hand grabbed the man's face, causing him to fall back and drop his sword as Edmund pushed on him with force. You could hear the sizzle and smell of the scent of burning flesh as the man fell on his back with Edmund on top. Smoke began to rise from the point where the hand and face connected. The man screeched in misery as his face began burn. "Edmund!" Cyril shouted. He jumped over and tried to lift the mighty sword with his hands still tied, barely able to keep it up. Edmund jumped back and went to the wall where the blood splattered. With his finger he drew an upside down triangle with the blood and thrust his right hand onto it. A bright light quickly flashed and the wall began to melt like lava from the point of contact. A hole formed in the wall. "Come Cyril!" Edmund shouted. The man was rolling side to side, holding his burning face in his hands. The sound of his blood wrenching howls got the prisoners charged up and they began to scream and shout as loud as they could. Cyril stood over the man, not knowing whether to end his misery now or let him suffer. There was a large BOOM! And dozens of soldiers started pouring down the staircase, seeing the Cyril standing over the man. They charged at him with full speed. Not having enough time to think, Cyril grabbed the man's beret in hoped of regaining another hat, and dragged the sword outside the wall with him.

From the looks of it, it became apparent that Arroya was situated right on a cliff near the harbor, and there was only a small ledge right outside that they had to balance themselves on, or fall about fifty feet into the rocky seas below. "This way!" Edmund yelled from the left, slowly putting one foot over the other, making his way to where the harbor was. Cyril dropped the sword on the ground and kneeled down to cut the rope of his wrists, then kicked the sword into the waters below and began side-stepping around the wall. A soldier appeared from the hole in the wall shouting at them as he tried to make his way through, "Your not getting anywhere criminals!" but the his armor prevented him from getting through.

Edmund saw up ahead that the ledge was coming to an end. He looked down and realized that it was about a twenty foot drop to the docks, where eight guards were putting on their helmets, getting ready to charge up the hill to the prison. He waited there at the edge until Cyril caught up to him.

"This is bad," uttered Cyril once the situation became apparent to him, "What are we gonna do now?! The soldiers are almost through the wall!"

Edmund glanced back to determine the position of the guards who had been delayed due to the first man that got trapped in the wall. He then peeked down over the cliff. Large jagged rocks protruded from the surface of the ocean as if the waters were an animal beckoning the men to jump into its mouth.

Edmund thought hard about what to do next and recollected himself, closing his eyes and holding his hands out over the water, "Buy me some time!" he yelled to Cyril.

"Damn…" Cyril muttered as he made his way back towards the soldiers.

"Be careful!" Edmund shouted out.

Three soldiers had already made their way through the hole and were now moving towards the two escapees. One of the three soldiers lost his balance when his foot slipped as he was trying to side-step around the wall. He slowly tipped over the ledge, grabbing the soldier in front of him in desperation to keep balance, but instead pulled the soldier down with him. The last man watched as his comrades fell to their deaths and panicked when he looked up to see Cyril coming at him.

Cyril, seeing the fear in the man's actions, took advantage of it and threw the beret he had grabbed earlier, hitting the soldier's helmet, causing him to panic and lose his balance as well. He fell backward and rolled off the side of ledge but luckily caught on to the edge and hanged their screaming for his life. More soldiers began to pop out through the wall.

Edmund focused as hard as he could on the water below. He held out his hands and began chanting more words from the Domino Lingua.

Terra Orior Oriri… Ortus Ut…Meus Vota…

The sea below began churning violently. Several dark, vicious whirlpools appeared forming a line that stretched from the cliffs to the harbor below.

Terra Orior Oriri…Ortus Ut Meus Vota…

Then the earth below his feet started to tremor. Bits and pieces of the cliff crumbled and fell apart into the ocean. Cyril was back near the hole, trying to fight off the soldiers when the tremors nearly made him fall off. He looked to Edmund to see what he was doing and saw an epic sight. The cliff was slowly breaking apart and falling down, piece by piece. The sky above Edmund had turn dark grey and swirled around like the clouds of a hurricane. Water was splashing above Edmunds head as his robe and hair were being blown wildly all around from the power and energy of his spell. Cyril couldn't believe what he was seeing. He started to make his way back to Edmund.

Terra Orior Oriri Ortus Ut Meus Vota!

Down below, the whirlpools' sizes increased dramatically. The clouds above started bellowing with thunderous claps just as a fulminating sound like an earthquake preceded before giant stone pillars began to rise from the whirlpools, one after another, shaking the ground tremendously as the pillars were creating massive steps that lead down straight into the harbor. Edmunds knees buckled from the exhaustion, but Cyril caught him before he fell forward into the raging seas.

"Don't fail me now Ed, were almost there. We just have to make it down to the harbor." Cyril said trying to encourage Edmund. "Let's go."

Cyril jumped down to the first stone pillar, with Edmund following right behind. They leaped from one pillar to another, making their way down to the docks with ease. As they jumped from pillar to pillar, the one previous would crumble back into the ocean, and one guard that was unfortunate enough to jump onto one of them found himself falling down gracefully and landing abruptly on a large rock. The men behind him that were about to jump stopped and hesitated, causing the group of men to collide into each other and nearly push themselves over the edge. Guards at the other end of the platform were trembling from seeing the insatiable power Edmund had just displayed. When the two of them jumped down to the platform, The guards dropped their weapons and shields and ran off in cowardice.

The Crescendorean galleon that Cyril had seen the night of his capture was still docked at the far end where the soldiers had been. They must've been guarding it but ran off in fear. "That ship is our way out of here," Cyril said to Edmund, " Come on!" The two of them ran as fast as they could to the ship. Cyril picked up one of the swords and began slicing the ropes that kept the vessel attached to the platform and boarded the ship after they had all been cut. Edmund kicked the ramp off and ran up to the helm. A group of nine to ten soldiers had reached the docks and were running towards the ship.

"Drop the sails!" Edmund yelled out to Cyril. Cyril quickly climbed up the mainmast and untied the sail that rolled down and unraveled itself. He slid down a rope and landed firmly on the deck. He saw the soldiers were closing the gap between them, "Damn!" Cyril shouted, "There's not enough wind and the soldiers are getting closer!" He quickly grabbed the ropes and tied the sail down.

Edmund worriedly looked out onto the platform and saw the soldiers swinging their grapples, gaining momentum before they tossed the hooks onto the ship. "One last time Cyril! You have to buy me some time!"

"ARG! DAMN!" he roared and frantically ran to the edge of the ship, holding onto a rope as the soldiers began throwing their grapples.

They jumped off the platform one by one, hanging off the side of the ship. The soldiers' heavy armor weighed them down and made it hard for them to climb up. Cyril jumped down and began to cleave at the cables of the grapples, which turned out to be steel chains, hampering his ability to cut them.. He grunted, swinging as hard as he could at the chains, Clang! Clang! Clang! The first chain broke apart and you could hear the man scream before falling and sinking into the sea. Again, he cut away at the second, third, and fourth. One man finally reached the edge of the ship, only to be met by Cyril's foot as he kicked the soldier back down to the waves below.

Edmund was weak from the two tremendous spells he had just conjured at the prison. Much of his energy was drained, and he was running on the last of his spirit as he tried one final spell. He began moving his arms in a circle from his waste to his chest over and over again, with his palms facing the sky like he was pushing air upwards.

Ventus Tempestas…Pulsus Ferus…

Ventus Tempestas…Pulsus Ferus…

The air began swirling around his hands. As he moved them upwards, the air was channeled towards the sail, becoming stronger and stronger the more he repeatedly chanted the words. More and more soldiers began to appear on the platform sprinting towards the ship, but Edmund continued moving his arms and chanting the words, moving the ship faster and further from the docks.

Ventus Tempestas…Pulsus Ferus…

Strong swirling gusts of wind were streaming steadily from his hands now. The sail was caught in the full force of the gale winds he had created. His clothes and hair waved frenziedly through the air. Edmund stumbled forward a little bit from weakness and exhaustion, losing his concentration. The spells had sapped too much energy from his body and he couldn't continue on, but the ship was already advancing away from the docks. Down on the deck, Cyril was busy fighting off four soldiers that had made it onto the ship. The four of them had him surrounded on each side.

Cyril kept his feet moving, actively turning in a circle, trying to keep an eye on each man as he parried with their small attacks. One soldier behind him charged with his sword in the air. At the same time, Cyril jumped forward, striking the soldier in front of him but only hitting the armor and knocking him on his back. He spun to the right swung with his arm and sword extended out.. The soldier attacking from behind accelerated with too much power and stumbled forward a bit past Cyril when he swung. Cyril, who regained control from his spin, swung his sword at the man's head. He struck the soldier's helmet with so much force it knocked him out cold and he fell to the side like a rag doll. Another soldier to his left yelled and ran at Cyril swinging his sword wildly left and right. Cyril parried with man, swinging upwards to push the mans sword in the air and then pushing up close until he kicked the soldier back and jumped backward onto his hands, thrusting and flipping himself over the soldier who he had first knocked onto the floor. He landed with the soldier's head between the gap of his feet. Cyril looked down into the man's eyes and stabbed him in the opening between the body armor and helmet.

Two soldiers attacked at the same time, swinging at him from the left and one from the right. Cyril ducked, rolled to the left, and swung upwards, cutting a soldiers arm off. It dropped straight to the floor with the hand still holding tightly to the sword. The man howled in pain as he grabbed the spot where his arm used to be, flailing around and falling to the ground squirming. These men were terribly clumsy fighters and placed no challenge.

Only one soldier remained a threat to Cyril. They locked onto each other, moving this way and that way in a constant circle. The soldier had his sword extended out in front of him aimed towards Cyril , while Cyril kept his sword pointed to the ground, steadied in his hands at his side. He waited for the soldier to make his move, but it seemed the man was too scared to do so and instead would stick to the defensive.

Cyril did not want to do anything unnecessary and offered the soldier a truce. "Listen, I don't want to kill you. Just put down your sword-" but he was cut off when the man yelled 'Scum!' and lunged at him screaming. His sword in thrusting position, he ran at Cyril with full force. With ease, Cyril stepped to the right and grabbed the man's helmet, pulling it off as he ran by missing. The man turned, touching his head in shock as he saw Cyril standing there with his sword in one hand and the his helmet in the other. Once more, the soldier lunged at him again. This time Cyril threw the soldier's helmet at him, hitting him on the mouth and causing him to drop his sword and stumble forward on his face.

Edmund saw the soldier's sorry display from the stairs of the helm, and slowly walked down to Cyril's side, holding onto the railings and anything else that was near to him to keep himself up, still weak from the spells. He put his hand on Cyril's shoulder, "Don't kill him."

The soldier lay on the deck with a battered and bloodied lip, pounding his hands on the floor. He got up slowly on his hands and knees and turned to the two men who stood there watching him. He kneeled and sat back against his legs, his head hanging down in acknowledgement of defeat.

"We can use him," Edmund started speaking, "He's a Calduron soldier, he may know some things about the leadership and that man back at the prison. Come on, we can ask him some questions."

"Before we take him, there's a lot I'd like to ask you Ed," Cyril said grinning. He put his hand on Edmunds head and ruffled his hair, then walked to the soldier with his sword aimed at the man.

"Just kill me," the man said, disheartened . "What's your name, soldier," Cyril asked.

"Just kill me! I have lost in battle, so with honor I must be killed!" the man bellowed at Cyril.

"Tch…an honor for you, but no different than murder to me."

The soldier look up at Cyril, whose sword shined brightly against the sun's rays. Edmund slowly walked forward to Cyril's side, "What is your name soldier?"

The man stared at the tattoo on Edmund's palm, which he clenched into a fist at the sight of the man noticing.

"I…am Captain Emory Rutherford. Now please, offer me my dignity back by taking my life now."

Cyril and Edmund turned to each other, laughing and shaking their heads, looking back down at the man in glee . "Rutherford…" Cyril chuckled when he said the man's name.

"Do not disrespect me!" the soldier yelled.

"Sorry…I do apologize, it was rude," recalling his statement. Edmund cut in, "…Hear this, Captain. As you can see being a man of the military, you are our enemy and are now in the grip of our hands, meaning you are a prisoner,"

Rutherford frowned angrily upon hearing the truth of Edmund's words, "You're of great value to us, and we don't want to have to kill you. So if you want to stay alive, tell us and we will oblige, all that we ask is your cooperation."

"I told you to kill me now!" he shouted back at the men, "I won't be a prisoner to other prisoners, and I won't help you in any way whatsoever! You're enemies of Calduron! Soon enough you'll find yourselves looking down cannon barrels be- "

Edmund stepped in, "We will treat you as an equal, we promise not to do anything to harm you, we just wa-"

"I said kill me now! Don't try to entice me with your offerings. My honor lies with my loyalty to Calduron! I won't help you in your separatist ways!" He pounded his fist in strong conviction.

"Alright then Emory." Cyril lifted his sword into the air about to swing. The man looked him sternly in the eyes, preparing himself for the fatal blow.

"No Cyril!," Edmund grabbed his arms, "If he wants to die, he can do so on his own accord."

Cyril put down his sword, "There's no point in keeping him with us," he declared, "He won't help us, he's a neo-loyalist…he doesn't know what he's even fighting for."

"I fight for Calduron!" Emory beamed at him.

"There is no Calduron! You ha-" Cyril screamed back but Edmund interrupted, "Stop it!" he grabbed Cyril by the shoulders then turned to the soldier, " Captain Rutherford, we will not kill you. You are our prisoner and that's all for now. Cyril and I will decide what to do with you later," he turned to Cyril, "Watch him."

Edmund started searching around the ship. Cyril kept his sword pointed at the man, the both of them locked in a death stare. Edmund returned with a white cloth and a rope in his hands. Cyril kicked the man on his stomach and placed his foot on Emory's head, pinning him down. Edmund tossed the rope to Cyril, who tied it tightly around the man's hand. He turned away to tie the cloth around his hand, " Tie him to the mast so we can keep an eye on him from the wheel," he advised. Cyril picked the man up and dragged him to the pole, tying him securely against it.

Edmund walked back up to the helm, sitting down against the railing. He took the time to observe the ship they had just commandeered, seeing the insignia of Crescendore beautifully carved on the wheel and Crescendore's flag at the top of the mainmast, the white, yellow, and black striped flag fluttering in the breeze. He sank down and laid on his back with his hands on his chest, taking deep breathes as he recovered from the exhausting ordeal. He could hear Cyril and the captain curse at each other, but ignored it and closed his eyes, taking in the sweet, sweet smell of the ocean that he had long missed while staying in Luxus. Then he heard the tapping of Cyril's feet as he walked up the steps and sat down next to him.

"How are you doing?" Cyril asked under his breathe..

"I need to rest…I used more spells than I could handle trying to get us out of there," he replied weakly.

"Yeah, about that…" Cyril shook his head and laughed, "What the bloody hell?! Why didn't you tell me you could use Venificus?"

"Please Cyril, not now…"

"Hmph…yeah…I understand. You need to rest. Come on, let me help you to the captain's cabin." Cyril stood up and grabbed Edmund's hand, pulling him onto his feet.

"What about the bodies…one man isn't even dead yet," Edmund pointed out.

Cyril sighed, "…damn, I nearly forgot. Let me go toss them overboard." He slid down the railing and jogged over to the soldiers. One by one he dragged the heavy men to the side of the ship and pushed them over.

Captain Rutherford watched in despair as Cyril kicked his men overboard, "No! How could you?!" he cried out.

"An enemy is an enemy, right?" Cyril shouted back as he kicked a corpse off the ship. The Captain was tantalized by his actions and went berserk, "I'll kill you! I swear I'll kill you for all my brothers you've slain!"

Cyril phased out the Captains words and waited at the bottom of the stairs.

Edmund walked down the steps slowly and they went to the cabin door. Cyril noticed the knob on the door was made of silver and shaped like a crescent moon.

He reached for the knob and tried to turn it, but it wouldn't budge.

"Damn, it's locked."

He turned back to the soldier who was tied up, " You wouldn't happen to have a key for this door, would you?"

"Go to hell!" he yelled back.

"I didn't think so." Cyril looked around to see if there was anything he could use to break down the door, but nothing came into sight, so he walked a few paces away from the door. He readied himself, took three deep breathes and charged at the door ramming it with his shoulder with a strong blow that cracked it a little bit. Cyril fell back from the force of the collision, a bit shocked by how hard he hit it.

"……….Ow……"he moaned, lying on the floor.

Edmund and the soldier couldn't keep themselves from chuckling. He got back up and started kicking the door until it finally broke free. Edmund stepped in first, but Cyril turned back to the soldier, nodding his head and sneering while the soldier spat on the floor and glared at him with disgust, then he stepped inside. There was a lamp on the counter next him which he picked up and lit with the matches in his vest pocket. The lamp lit up the room, revealing its grandeur. The floor had been covered in an elegantly designed rug that had naked women with roses wrapped around their bodies and depictions of cherubs encircling them.

There was large mahogany desk with a map of Ananthea embedded into the surface. Some markings on the map showed previous expeditions that the ship had taken before they captured it and a compass, feather, ink, and a magnifying glass lay on the side. Looking around, there was large Crescendore flag hanging on the wall, which Edmund tore down as soon as he saw it. There was a small cot in the left corner with violet silk sheets spread across it and two meticulously designed bedside tables next to the bed. A large array of windows gave the view of the ocean from behind the ship where they could watch as the Isle of Luxus slowly became a meaningless rock in the sea. Many weapons of different types were hanging on the wall; spears, great swords, broad swords, falchions…

There was a large dresser on the right side where bottles of all sizes full of different sorts of liquor and a few glasses were arranged from darkest to lightest on it's surface.

"Spoils of war!" Cyril laughed out as he poured three glasses to the brink. He took his won glass and gave Edmund one, "Take it, I guarantee you'll get a better rest," he laughed.

"I cannot deny the truth!" Edmund smiled as he raised his glass in the air, "To us!" he declared ,"Hah! To us!" the both of them took a large swig of their drinks. "Tss… Strong one eh…" Cyril muttered as he took another swig. "I'll be back." He grabbed the other glass and walked out the room to the Captain, stopping in front of him and holding out the glass, "Every man deserves a drink now and then, no matter the situation."

Captain Rutherford looked at Cyril with a blank stare. 'This guy must be joking…'

"My hands are tied…" he said irritated.

Cyril looked him up and down, "I tied you up pretty good there didn't I?"

He had tied the soldiers body to the mast. The thick rope wrapped around him many times and was tied very tightly.. He even had another rope tied around his hands.

"Seeing as you won't cooperate, I can't just untie you…ehh what the heck, here." Cyril put the glass up to Emory's mouth, but he shunned the glass, "Don't you dare degrade me! Are you mad or something!" he barked.

Cyril backed away and frowned at the man, "I would've gotten black out drunk if I were in your position. You should be more accepting of kind gestures." He poured the drink on Captain Rutherford's head and walked back to the room, with the Captain cursing him as he turned his back. Cyril just laughed.

When he entered the room, he found Edmund passed out on the cot, his glass empty. He smirked and grabbed a bottle from the dresser and walked out onto the bow of the ship. It had been years since he saw blue water. He sat on the railing and took a swig out of his bottle.

Cyril began thinking back to the unbelievable escape he and Edmund had just pulled off. He was still amazed by the awesome power that Edmund had used to get them out of the prison, remembering when Edmund had been kneeling before him healing his battered body. The pain was murderous and it lingered in his mind, but the feeling he had after Edmund finished was unimaginable. Lightweight, clear headed, and extra powerful were just some of the feelings he experienced. Then, when Edmund had grabbed the man's face and it started to burn and smoke began rising... The thought of it made Cyril cringe a little bit. The tattoo on Edmunds palm flashed through his head.

Strange place for a tattoo…

…And then he remembered the sight of Edmund as he stood so triumphantly with his hands raised to the sky and the storm surging above and below him. It was almost too amazing to be real. He had never seen anything like it before, not even imagined anything like it. A tenacious curiosity about Domino Lingua and Venificus made Cyril more motivated to learn about it. He took another large swig from his bottle and ran to the cabin to talk to Edmund, but when he got to the doorway he saw Edmund on the cot and remembered that the man needed his rest, "Ah you!"

The liquor was most definitely flowing and dancing through his mind and he was enjoying every drop of it. He began to sing his favorite childhood song:

…Keep your eyes on the horizon

And remember your last kiss

When the water turns to blood

You'll be thinking if this

You've forgotten the reason why you came all this way

You had no chance

Lost what you had

To the blue expanse...

An old man tells a tale

He spoke of a distant beach

Jewels of every size in reach

That will suck you dry like a leech

Keep an eye on the horizon

And imagine that last kiss

When lust merges with greed

You'll be thinking of this…

The sky overhead was like a painting, turning from bright blue to a light shade of violet. The clouds were tainted with a mix of yellow, orange, and pink, as they rolled over themselves out in the distance. Cyril climbed up to the bird's nest and leaned back against the railings. He looked far out at the sun as it disappeared behind the big blue. He sang a few words softly to himself before sagging into slump:

Keep an eye on the horizon…

Bring me the horizon…

A calm ocean breeze caressed him to sleep.

CHAPTER 4

Arroya had become crowded with soldiers as they all came to see what had taken place at the prison. They were making a racket talking amongst themselves as they were bewildered by the slashes in the bars and cut chains and by the hole that Edmund had melted in the dense wall. The large man was still on the floor, holding his face in his massive hands, groaning and breathing hard through his teeth. Three cloaked men appeared in the doorway, making their way down the staircase and through the packed chamber. They had on long black robes that dragged on the floor as they walked. Their faces were hidden by their hoods. Not much else could be distinguished from the three except that the man who seemed to be leading the group had long, curly grey hair that stretched down to his chest and down his back.

All of the soldiers moved to the side when they saw the ominous group saunter towards the injured man. Their foreboding presence caused the soldiers to be keep silent while they passed by. The group of black robed men stopped at his side. The long haired man knelt down and pulled the suffering man's hands from his face, revealing the skin that had charred off and the raw flesh that was now showing from Edmunds attack. The long haired man looked back at his colleagues when he saw that the burn was in the shape of a triangle.

"Leave, all of you." He ordered the soldiers. They looked at each other thinking who this man was. "NOW!" He declared. The soldiers turned back, intimidated by the mystery men, and headed up and out the doors.

"You've been slipping, General," the man said, "This is the second time I've had to see you lying on the floor."

The General opened his eyes slightly, "I underestimated the boy. I…I didn't think Searle would have taught him so well…"

"The Professor has nothing to do with this, seeing as you foolishly killed him many years before this incident."

"I would've been burnt alive if I-"

"I don't care about your excuses. That is the past now," the unknown man stood up and dusted off his clothes, "This is the only time I will do this for you, seeing as your failure has lead us to finding the ring."

"You found it? Where?" the general said, surprised.

"Jalebee…beggars always come in handy, don't you think so, Garrick?"

One of the cloaked men smiled and nodded, exposing his jagged, rotten teeth, colored a dark yellow that faded to near blackness around his gums.

"What were you doing at the Pub?" the General asked.

The man became annoyed, "You've forgotten you idiot…you were supposed to meet us there after you had the boy."

"Right, sorry. I was going to send my daughter because she said she knew the location of the ring but-" the man cut the general off, "But WE found it and now the boy is missing thanks to you."

"How were you able to get your hands on it?" the General solicited.

"Because of your deficiency, we had to wait inside Jalebee. Garrick noticed a haggard beggar in the corner trying to sell the ring, so we bought it off him for fifty gold coins."

"Fifty gold coins?" the General replied shockingly, "You could've just taken it from the damned beggar..."

The man sneered at him, "Are you that wretched a man, General? You can't always be so greedy. You have to make sacrifices every now and then," he pulled out some gold from his pocket, shaking it in his hands, "plus…this precious gold of yours has no significance to us…"The man threw the coins into the prisoners' cages. They began riling and going hysterical trying to reach the coins with their toes. The man laughed cynically. The general peered at the man, "Anyways…I believe there's another user, there was another man here…" He told the them.

"What are you talking about?" one replied.

"Before he got away, Edmund told me the man next to him was a student of Searle before he was. His name is Cyril, but he escaped with Edmund."

The men looked at each other, with one of them shaking his head, "Impossible. You were obviously lied to and fell for it like the metal head you are. Don't listen to prisoners, you should know that by now…" he paused, "...pathetic."

The General rolled his eyes, annoyed of the man's condescending talk.

"Shut up and be still now, General."

The man turned to the other cloaked men and held out his hand. One of them reached into their robes and pulled out a small green vial and handed it to the man. He took off the cork and poured it on the Generals face.

"Rub it in," the man told him, "You may feel a slight tingle."

The General rubbed the green liquid on his burn, scars, and eye. It began to sizzle a little as it absorbed into the skin, causing the General to grimace and squirm a bit.

"Wipe it off," The man said and threw a cloth at him. The General cleaned the remainder of the liquid off his face.

"Meet us outside, this place wreaks of death."

The three men stormed out of the prison, but not before a prisoner shouted some mumbled curse words at them. One of the men, possibly Garrick, stopped and stared at the prisoner. He looked left and right at all the prisoners and then back at the man, spitting on the ground. He waved his hand and said:

Vinea Insolitus

A crack appeared in the floor below the prisoner, and a small vine crept out, slowly growing and spreading. It wrapped around the man's leg and traveled up his body until it wrapped firmly around his neck. The prisoner tried to scream, but the vine spread into his mouth and down his throat as it tightened itself around his neck. He struggled turbulently, but the vine got tighter and tighter until…

Krrk!

The prisoner hung lifelessly from the chain as the vine slowly retreated back into the earth.. All the prisoners looked on, stunned and terrified as the cloaked man's hideous grin shown widely across his face. He stared at the prisoners with his dreadful light grey eyes, peering into their souls. They could feel a cold chill run up their spines as his frightening gaze pierced through all the boundaries of mind and flesh and dove deep into their consciousness, revealing their true nature. The man turned and laughed maniacally, quickly jumping up the stairs.

The General felt his face. The burns were gone, including the scars. He got up and brushed himself off, looking around for his cap and sword, not knowing that Cyril had taken and lost both. He walked towards the stairs and saw the vines retreating from the dead mans body as he passed by. He loosened his collar and walked up.

The cloaked men were standing outside the door waiting for him.

"We need that boy. If you fail again I will kill you," the man simply said and walked away with the other two following behind him.

"I don't know where he could've gone," The General yelled at them, but they continued on without a word.

A soldier came up to the General, "Sir, They took the Crescendore ship, Sir," he told him, "…Sir…your eye? It-"

"They took the ship? How the hell did this happen?!" The General yelled, grabbing the man by the collar of his armor suit. "I…Uh, well…Sir…I"

The General shouted, "You idiots call yourselves Legionnaires!" and threw the man to the side.

He was furious. He failed to get Edmund, and the two prisoners got away and stole a ship. His men failed to stop them, his daughter failed to get the ring, and now he was being threatened with his life by these mysterious men. He grit his teeth in frustration. A soldier ran up to the General and spoke to him.

"Sir, I think I may know where the prisoners have gone," he said.

"Go on man…"

The soldier continued, "Seeing as they took the Crescendore vessel, there's only two places they can go where they wouldn't be noticed and attacked. The Morana-Aisling Islands south of here or Crescendore itself."

The General turned towards the sea and thought hard about it.

"Fine," he said, "Gather however many ships required to take one hundred men and start towards Morana, and do it fast. If they get to Crescendore, we will have ourselves a hell of a time trying to get to them…" He looked at the soldier standing there, "…GO!"

"Yes Sir!"

The soldier ran down to the docks, the rest of the men marching behind.. The General looked out into the horizon. The sun was just about to go under the horizon line. A few lines escaped from under his breath.

An old man tells a tale

He spoke of a distant beach

Jewels of every size in reach…

He clenched his fists.

That will suck you dry like a leech…

The General turned back and started walking down the hill towards the docks. He thought about the what Edmund had told him about Cyril, angered that he was made a fool of not only by being overtaken by the two prisoners, but also by the reaction of the cloaked man when he told him about Cyril.

"I'll kill them all…"

He passed by a beggar, looking at him with disgust. "Please sir…could you spare some food?" the beggar said hoarsely. The General didn't even stop or acknowledge him, he just spat in disrespect to the man. He reached the gates where three soldiers stood and saluted him, but he continued walking, ignoring the men. The soldier who mentioned where the Cyril and Edmund might have gone ran up to The General as he entered the gates.

"Sir!" the soldier reported, "There are no ships available at the moment. Several ships were scheduled to arrive by tomorrow morning from the mainland though, Sir."

"Rrrrahh!" he yelled out in frustration, " You mean to say were marooned on this damn island with not a single boat?!" he stormed off in annoyance, screaming "…what the hell happened to this military!"

He continued walking through the crowded streets, shoving people out of the way as he moved frantically until arriving at the Jalebee Pub. He opened the door and saw that the pub was in the middle of a war. Men were fighting all over, throwing their bottles, climbing over tables, falling from chandeliers and second floor…

He sat down at the bar table. "A bottle of the strongest," he ordered. The bartender realized who he was and quickly grabbed the strongest liquor he had off the shelves and popped the cork, handing it to the General who snatched it from his hands. With one swig, he downed the entire bottle and threw it behind him, hitting a man in the head who was standing on a table screaming.

"Another."

The bartender grabbed two bottles this time and handed it over to the General.

"That's more like it…," he said, chugging one of the bottles.

As he began his third bottle, a man who was in a fray with another drunk man was pushed, bumping the General as he was drinking, causing him to spill a little on himself. The General turned around and grabbed the man on the top of his head just before he was about to run at the man who pushed him. He took the bottle and smashed it against the man's face. The bottle broke and pieces were stuck all over his cheek and around the eye, blood flowing like a waterfall. The man let out a howl in pain and grabbed the huge hand trying to get himself free. The General stood up and lifted the man from the back of his shirt, throwing him more than ten feet across the room. He landed on another table and smashed right through it. Everyone stopped and looked to see who threw the man, seeing the General standing at the bar, huffing and puffing, his face red with rage. Most of the men recognized the him and quickly sped out the door. The rest sat down calmly in their chairs, staring at the massive man and sipping away at their booze. The General turned back towards the bar tender and sat down. He grabbed a bottle and began drinking away.

A few hours passed and the pub became full again, but this time much more quiet and calm. No one wanted to get in the way of the man's temper. The General had a strange feeling, like someone was watching him. He peered left and right, but all the people at the bar table had vacated it upon witnessing his rage. He turned in his chair, observing the crowd of drunks, but everyone was caught rattling in their own business. He turned back around and grabbed his bottle, tilting his head back to pour the drink down his mouth, and that's when he saw a dark figure move back from the railing and disappear. The General put down his drink and walked over to the stairs, running up in hopes of catching the man, but when he got to the top of the staircase, no one was there. He looked back down over the railings at the crowd and saw the door of the pub open and the dark figure walk out.

He quickly ran down the stairs and blasted through the doors. He saw the conspicuous man walking briskly down the empty road and started running towards him. The man looked back and quickly turned the corner. Just before the General reached the bend, he heard someone say something he couldn't understand and then small bang like a firecracker. He turned the corner only to see a small puff of smoke as it mixed in with the rest of the air. He looked back and forth, but there was no sight of the man. He turned around and began walking back to his home, looking over his shoulder very so often without noticing that on the rooftop of one of the buildings, the dark figure stood watching the General as he walked away.

The General passed by a two soldiers who were harassing an old beggar, pushing him back and forth between themselves. The old man called out to the General for help. He stopped and caught the attention of the two soldiers.

"At quarters!"

The two men looked back at the man, realizing it was the General, and left the old man to fall on the ground. They turned, standing firm and upright, their arms at their sides.

"Sir!" they said in unison. The General held out his finger, signaling them to come to him. They ran over to him as he started back up the hill towards his mansion. "Sir! What are we doing Sir!" one soldier asked, looking over to his comrade puzzled.

"Follow me," he ordered. He was obviously a bit paranoid, walking alone without a weapon late at night, even though his great size and stature would drive away any criminal that caught sight of him. They arrived at the top of the hill, where a large extensive wall and gate that stretched all along the land separated it from the rest of Luxus. The wall was in bad shape though. Parts of it were crumbling and piling on the ground below. Calcium deposits and mold left white trails and green splotches all over it.

There were many guards spread along the walls, walking back and forth patrolling the premises. Two watchtowers were erected behind the gates, one to the left and one to the right. Four guards stood poise, overseeing the area around the entrance and lawn of the mansion from each direction. A pair of guards stood in front of the gates, talking to one another casually until they heard the guards above announce the presence of the General and two soldiers as they appeared down the road. They grabbed their weapons and stood at attention.

They opened the gates once the General got nearer. As he walked passed them, the guards saluted him by making a fist and placing it over their hearts, showing their fierce loyalty, but he ignored the men's gesture and commanded them not to open the gates to anyone. He and the two soldiers continued to walk down the stone path that lead to the entrance of the mansion. It was the soldiers first time on the General's land, and they were amazed at the size of it. But it wasn't kept in good condition. The grass was brown and dry. Dead trees stood in awkward positions pointing this way and that, and their fallen dead leaves lay crumpled all over the ground. Moss and mold grew all over the grey stone path, as well as on the outer wall of the mansion where dead vines left vein-like impressions.

They walked up the steps to the entrance, where two more guards stood beside mammoth wooden doors.. The two guards saluted the General and opened the colossal doors. The soldiers that were following him looked at each other with wide eyes, amazed by the grandeur of mansion as they stepped inside, stopping and staring in awe.

They stood on a burgundy carpet walkway that stretched forward a bit, then spread to the left and right going into two other closed rooms and up a pair of staircases that curved around a large marble statue of a warrior in a heroic pose, the arm raised in the air and a black granite sword in his hand. There were beautiful sculptures from all over the world displayed all around of mighty legendary warriors and heroes. Magnificent rare paintings hung from the walls, compassed inside intricately designed golden frames. A ravishing chandelier dangled from the high ceiling.. Hundreds of large, luxurious crystals hung suspended from the chandelier, reflecting a dazzling array of multicolored sparkles all round the main hall.

A frail young woman wearing an expensive white winceyette nightgown appeared at the top of the stairs.

"Where were you father?" she called out..

The General glanced up at her as he grudgidly made his way up the stairs. The lady noticed that her father's scars had disappeared and his eye was back. She ran over to touch his face. "Oh…Daddy's so handsome again! How did you do it? You have you tell me your secret Papa!"

"Come with me Juliana." He requested.

"Only if you tell me just how you did it Papa," she babbled as she danced around her father like a little ballerina. The General turned and walked down the hall towards his bedroom, bypassing several large paintings of his forefathers that were all shown to be distinguished military personnel.

"Father, you must tell me how you got rid of those scars! Just imagine the wonders it could do for my skin!" she continued to nag as they entered his chambers.

"Shut your mouth and close the door," he demanded with annoyance to the woman's constant sputtering.

"Oh is it a secret?" she said chuckled, "I promise I'll keep it a family secret." The General grit his teeth, "Damn Juliana, you spoiled brat…" he said under his breath. "What's that daddy?" she asked obliviously.

The General walked over to his dresser and took out a glass and spoke calmly, "Juliana…you told me you knew where the ring was."

"I do! I told you a sick little man tried to steal it from me and so I sent the soldier's after him but he-"

He interrupted her, "Did he try? Or did he steal it?" he inquired as he poured liquor into the glass. Juliana's voice got soft and quiet, "Well…yes, he did steal…but then the guards caught him and they took him to Arroya… and we tried to get it from him, but he wouldn't give it!"

"You tried to get it from him…but he wouldn't give it…" The General reiterated her words, "…you tried to get it from him…but he wouldn't…give it…"

"Yes Papa, and I told him he would be sorry once you came. Oh, did you go see him yet? Do you have the ring? Can I see-"

"God damn it Juliana! No I don't have it!" he shouted, pounding his drink against the dresser, "How the hell did you lose the ring?! You were supposed to just buy the ring from the damned drunkard and GO HOME!"

Juliana's face turned a ghostly white as she nervously played her hair. "Pa…father…I was robbed! I was at Jalebee…"

"Why were you at Jalebee?! You were supposed to meat the man at the docks and buy it from him and go to the ship and that would be it!"

Juliana began to cry, sniffling and choking up her words, "Da..daddy! I…I thought I'd try to save us some money…*sniff sniff*…you know…so… w..we went to Jalebee and I, I got it from him…"

"Save us money?!" he screamed, "Save US MONEY?! You irritating, idiotic, regretful girl!"

Juliana covered her face in her hands and started sobbing heavily," Daddy! I-"

"Don't play that game with me Juliana!... Save us money? Are you that stupid? Have you forgotten that I OWN Calduron?! Since when has money ever been an issue for us?" the General roared.

Juliana continued to whine, wailing and screaming words that were incomprehensible.

"I repeat myself Juliana, I OWN CALDURON. Next time you think you want to save some damn money, just remember I own all the money in this land! Everything in Calduron is MINE. The money, the homes, the food, the military…IT'S ALL MINE!"

"Well then why didn't you have the ring!" she shouted back crying, "Why didn't you have your stupid little soldiers do it for you?!"

"I've been wondering the same damn thing Juliana! Because of you I nearly lost my life!" he yelled back.

"What are you talking about you almost lost your life? You look like you lost five years of age! There's not even a scratch on you! Your scars are gone…and you even have your eye back? What th-"

"Get out!" he snapped, "I said get out!".

Juliana stormed out the bedroom, crying whole heartedly and yelling 'I hate you!' as she ran down the hall to her room slamming the door. The two soldiers standing downstairs turned to each other, looking a bit antsy. The General was mumbling to himself as he brought out another glass and poured himself some more liquor. He was about to take a sip when he noticed something outside on his balcony move out of the corner of his eye.

He quickly grabbed a sword that was hanging on display on the wall and kicked open the door. He looked all around but didn't see anything, only the faint trace of smoke in the air. He hurriedly went back in and locked the doors behind him, then went to the staircase and called the two soldiers who were still in awe up to the room. He ordered one man to stand outside his bedroom door and the other outside the balcony door. The General placed a dagger under his pillow before blowing out the candles and heading to sleep. He could vaguely hear the muffled voice of his daughter as she screamed out from her room. He sighed deeply before closing his eyes, but Juliana's constant racket and the thought of the mysterious haunting presence kept him up all night.

…Vomica Cruor Voro Diligo Eternus Vita…

Somnium Verus!

A voice whispered, filling the air in its overwhelming dark tone.

The waters around the village suddenly churned ferociously…

…Agar Tuilindo Mela Oira Coia…

Olos Anwa!

Huge white crested waves surged abhorrently into a massive vortex that jolted the seas into a violent rage…

…Creatura Atrum Vorago Amnis Adeo Vita!

A sweltering roar came from the center of the vortex. There was tremendous burst of water as a giant grotesque monster arose from the volatile sea. The creature let out a crude howl which awoke the villagers from their slumber. They stepped outside their huts and homes to see what could be causing such a horrendous sound…

Animus naara incendia…

Deafening screams of women and children filled the timid air amidst what was only moments ago a peaceful town at rest. They sprinted rampantly through the dirt paths of the village as the buildings encompassing them began to burst into flames. An enormous scaly hand the color of the moon appeared from the rising smoke, sweeping up the men who bravely stood and fought against the unknown creature and threw them high into the air, into the smoldering furnace that used to be their homes. They would run and turn back to fire their arrows from what seemed like safe distances until the monster would powerfully stomp against the earth, causing the frail burning buildings around them to come crashing down on the men as they lost their balance from the small tremors. The moon and stars became enveloped and hidden behind swirling tormentuous clouds that were incandescently lit with the red brightness of fire. Dark words hissed through the air like a long hypnotic whisper.

Animus naara incendia…

Explosions began to occur inside the malicious clouds, randomly sending bursts of fire balls raining down onto the thatched rooftops of the village huts.

Irosa Naur Thar I'exuro Pluvial…

Incendia Trans Universitas…

Cyril… Cyril...

Cyril!

"Cyril!" Edmund shouted from the deck. He marched back and forth worriedly across the ship searching for Cyril.

"Cyril!"

Cyril awoke disconcertedly, shaking overbearingly as he turned onto his side to look down at Edmund. His clothes were drenched in sweat and he was breathing heavily. He shut his eyes tightly and reopened them to reassure himself that he was in reality. The bright blue skies and the Sun's dazzling rays irritated his sight. He wasn't used to the true feel of Sun as it had always been covered by the suffocating smog in Luxus. The waves of the sea crashed against the sides of the ship, reminding Cyril where he was as he stood up and called out to Edmund weakly, "Here…I'm here."

Edmund sighed in relief, "I thought you fell off the ship! You were shouting so loudly I didn't know what was going on. "

Cyril laughed, "Heh, well that depends on you mean by ship…are you rested yet?" He grabbed the rope next to him and swung down to the deck below.

"Yes yes a good nights rest did the job quite well," Edmund said easily.

"There's a lot we need to talk about," Cyril replied.

"Hmph, yes, but first off, you need to explain to me what exactly is going on with you?" Edmund noted, "That's the second time I've heard you scream like that…what's going on?"

Cyril looked at the Captain Emory who was watching them, "I…I've been having dreams, very strange dreams."

"Tell me more."

Cyril described to Edmund the first dream he had had in the prison.

Edmund was caught in deep thought as he pondered over what Cyril was explaining.

"Vomica Cruor Voro Diligo…" he repeated, scratching his head," Eternus Vita Somnium Verus…Agar Tuilindo Mela Oira Coia…"

"Is it Venificus?" Cyril asked.

"I…don't really know to be honest. Vomica, Eternus, Somnium…These are words from the Domino Lingua," he paused, "…but Agar Tuilindo… Mela Oira Coia? I've never heard these words before, nor do they even sound like Domino Lingua…this is every strange indeed Cyril." He was very confused, "Are you sure this is what you heard?"

"I'm positive. I even heard these words and other ones like it in my second dream. But this dream was more intense, more real. I felt like I was there experiencing the disaster…"

"What disaster?" Edmund interjected. "The dream I had last night, those words were being chanted, and fire was falling from the sky…and there was this strange creature that appeared from the ocean that massacred dozens of people-"

"People?" he inquired, "There were people? Do you know where it was?"

Cyril shook his head, "No Ed. I just heard the words and saw the treachery unfold as if I was standing right in the epicenter of it all. You had to see it…" he said with disbelief, "…I mean the fire was just pouring down from the clouds like rain…and this unimaginably horrendous monster… gigantic, with jagged spikes on its back and grotesque, scaly white arms…"

Captain Emory listened intently on their conversation, a bit discomforted and confused by what they were talking about.

"Did you see the person who was saying the words?" Edmund asked.

Cyril shook his head and sighed.

Edmund continued, "I don't really know what to say. I guess just try not to think about it too much, it could probably just be nightmares influenced by recent event. We have just been through a great deal in recent days."

"Yeah…It's possible," Cyril replied, still feeling a bit insecure, "…Anyways, I wanted to ask you earlier about how you ended up in Arroya, and how do you know that man from the prison?"

Edmund took a deep breath and walked over to Captain Rutherford and kneeled down, looking him up and down. The Captain sneered at him and looked away.

"You remember how I told you the Professor and I had went to Broyer?"

"Yes," Cyril replied.

"…Well, after we had gathered several books from the library, we left to go back to our room at the inn. When we arrived, we went straight to our room and the Professor and I began to take notes while we read. It was awfully quiet as we were studying, and the Professor felt a bit insecure knowing that we were in Broyer, a large boomtown, and it was already quite quiet and only mid-evening. I got a little bit worried too, but he told me it was nothing to waste our time about, so we continued our research. About an hour into it, we heard a lot of horse hooves and men talking from out the window. We could see a few men who were from the Calduron Army standing guard next to a carriage, and then a considerably large man stepped out. He stood there until a few more soldier's and carriages arrived. There were now about twenty Calduron Army men outside. They got in formation and waited directly outside the entrance to the inn while the man and four other soldiers entered. Professor Searle got nervous about the situation, seeing as he was a Ponderer. He closed his book and told me to blow out the candles and conceal myself," he stopped to sit down, still studying the Captain as he spoke, "…so I hid myself under the desk and Professor Searle went outside to check on the situation. I'm not really sure what happened, but I heard a few men yell and their armor bang against one other as they ran up the stairs. The Professor ran inside and shut the door and came over to the desk and stood there waiting. I remember him telling me to stay under no matter what, so I crunched over and closed my eyes. I was very scared. Not soon after he spoke, I heard a large bang as the soldiers came bursting through. They shouted at him to stay where he was which he did so, then the vulgar man stepped into the room, his powerful steps shaking the entire floor…"

' I know who you are, Professor.'

'Oh good, you know I am a professor. My name is Searle Yustave. And you are?

' All you need to know is that I'm from the Calduron Army. I am not going to waste my time with useless talk. I know you are a Ponderer, and you and your people have been condemned by all nations around Ananthea, but I am a considerate man. Instead of killing you like I should have already, I am giving you two options. Would you rather die here in this room, or help me fight against the Crescendore perpetrators?

'Wouldn't I be fighting for the King and his Kingdom? You should be more preci-'

'No. You'll be fighting for me."

'And what has to the King to say with this?'

'The king has no say in this. You will fight for me, under my orders, and if done without resistance, I'll make sure you aren't touched or bothered by any person in Calduron. You'll be under the Army's protection, be given a high position in the ranks, funding for your research, wealth…almost anything you could ever want.'

'Almost anything…Sir, I don't mean to disincline, but I only want to study here in this room. You say you are fighting against the Crescendore Kingdom, but what have they done?'

'They have killed off the Melurians and are now preparing to attack Calduron, and I will be the one to save our Kingdom, all I need is your help. Now Professor, will you or will you not?'…

"…When I heard this, I couldn't believe it. Not even all the armies on Ananthea could have ever been able to kill the Melurians…"

Cyril was baffled, "What do you mean all the armies on Ananthea couldn't kill the Melurians?"

Edmund shook his head and continued, "No matter. Anyways, I listened on from the under the desk…"

'That is a lie.'

'No Professor, It is not. Crescendore has been shunned by the world for their actions but it makes no difference to them. The King of Crescendore wants the world and he wants it now. I can't blame the man. But now they want to attack Calduron. Being a man of the Calduron Army and knowing of their eminent attack, I cannot just sit back and let my men fight knowing you are in my presence and have the capabilities of destroying Crescendore before they could even cross their side of the Peace Tribuo border. Your abilities can save me and my men a lot of trouble, Professor.'

'You think I will help you with your war? Do you think I am that naïve? I can see your true intentions, Sir. You come here demanding my submission without the awareness of King Elrick. You tell me Meluria has been conquered by Crescendore, which is nearly impossible, and just from observing you I can tell there is much, much more to this than meets the eye. And once this is finished I intend to find out myself.'

'Now don't be foolish old man. You think I'll just let you go all of a sudden? Your powers are too precious and essential for our plans. You will be coming with me one way or another.'

'Our plans?'

'No more questions Professor. Either you come with me now, or you'll be taken by force.'

'Think twice about that, Sir. I don't want to harm you or your men. Please leave now.'

'HA HA HA! MEN!'…

"…I noticed more soldiers had come because I could hear a lot of footsteps coming from the stairs and their voices as they entered the room…"

'Professor, don't be so foolish as to waste your life right here and now…'

"…But Professor Searle didn't waste another second. He quickly conjured up a spell…"

'Creber Glacies Parietis!'

(A dense wall of ice formed between Professor Searle and the Soldiers)

'Not enough!'

(The man clenched his large hand and swung at the ice wall, shattering it like glass. The soldiers charged at the Professor.)

'Ventus Declino!'

(A powerful gust of wind blew from the palms of the Professor as he swept his hands to the left, tossing the soldiers against the wall. More soldiers poured into the room from the door.)

'Give up old man!'…

"…I couldn't hide under the desk any longer knowing that my Professor was in danger and fighting alone. I only knew a few spells at the time and I felt I had to do something more than just keep cowering under a desk, so I got up and ran to his side…"

'Edmund leave! Use the window!'

"No Professor! I'm going to help! Mortifer No"…

"…I tried to chant the words to a spell that I wasn't supposed to know and too inexperienced to use. The problem is that since I'm not a Ponderer, and was still very young, it took too much time for it to be cast and I had to take more time to build up the energy first. Not only that, this spell is a Sorcerer's spell, It's very powerful and probably would've killed me if…"

'Edmund!'

(Professor Searle pushed Edmund aside, just as the soldiers came swinging their swords)

Glacies Orbis Incidere Vesica!

(The air crystallized around the Professor and turned into thin, sharp discs. As he threw his hands forward, hundreds of razor sharp ice disks sped towards the soldiers, piercing their armor and slicing right through them as they melted into water when they exited the bodies)…

"…It was astounding to see Professor Searle performing these Venificus spells. I was sitting up on the floor when he used the Glacies Orbis spell in his own form and saw as they ripped through the waves of soldiers. Dozens of dead bodies were strewn about the room. Professor Searle had completely wiped out the man's guards in only a matter of a few minutes, and only the man was left standing in front of the doorway…"

'Extraordinary Professor. Never in my life has anything so beautiful been shown before my eyes. Come with me Professor, don't make this a regretful night.'

'If you value your life and the men who died for you, you will leave now, Sir.'

'No no no, old man, this is not how it works.'

(The man pulled a giant sword from the strap on his back and pointed it towards the Professor)

'This is such a shame.'

(Just as he finished his sentence, the man ran to Professor Searle, vanishing into a blur and appearing before him swinging, but the Professor jumped out of the way. The man missed and struck the wall, blasting a hole right through it from his empirical strength.)

'You're fast but have no control! Lux Lucis Absum!...'

"…The entire room went nearly pitch black, I could only barely make out the silhouette of Professor Searle. Even light from the outside the window and the hole the man blew open didn't penetrate inside. The professor grabbed me by the arms and pulled me off the ground…"

'We must go now! Come Edmund!'

'Not so fast Professor!"

(The man pulled two vials of oil from his belt and smashed it against the floor. He scraped his sword across a dead soldier's shield creating sparks that lit the oil and caught flame.)…

"…A fire appeared as he pulled me up and I saw the man raise his blade and jolt across the room. The Professor was caught off guard because he was helping me get to my feet. Just as I saw the man appear from the light of the flames, Professor Searle grabbed his back and let out a terrifying scream. Neither of us had seen the man coming, and there he appeared slashing into the Professor's back and then banging right into the desk, breaking it. The man toppled over and dropped his sword…"

'Ahh!...'

"Professor!"

'Incendia Theca!'

(The fire from the oil swirled into the air, creating a funnel. The Professor used his arms to channel the fire spin over the man who was still on the ground)

'Aaaagh!'

(The man went erratic, flipping and squirming on the floor as he began to burn)…

"…Professor Searle lost his balance and fell on his knees from the pain. He lost his focus and as you know Cyril, when that happens to someone using any Venificus spell, they are unable to commence any further. The Professor held my hand and said his last spell…"

'Meus Animus Contego…Quod Servo Tutus…'

"…The Professor used a spell that is part of the Denique Vota branch of spells…a person uses one of these to sacrifice themselves for the cause they choose. Specifically in the Professor's case, he used one to separate his soul from his body and cover mine in ethereal protection, giving me impenetrable defenses for a few moments…I'll never forget the feeling…it was like Heaven itself became imbedded in my skin…I watched as the life dissipated out of the Professor's eyes and the white aura made its way through our hands and over my body. That was the last connection I had with Professor Searle…and since his spirit had passes, the fires ceased to burn around us and the light returned to normal. The man stood up, convulsively shaking and smoke rising from his charred body. The right side of his face was deeply burnt, you could see the muscles on his face. I was still petrified by the Professor's death cause I didn't really understand what he had done at the time. When I saw the man pick up his sword and come for me I only stood there not knowing what to do. He painstakingly made his way to me and grabbed my shirt, but when he put his hand on me, a mighty jolt of lighting crippled him and he fell down. At the same time a group of soldiers ran into the room and saw the after effects of the deadly chaos that had happened in the room. They saw me standing over the man and came running after me screaming, so I used one of the other spells I had known…"

"Abolesco…Abolesco…Abolesco…"

"...I chanted as fast as I could but I was too slow and the soldiers ran and thrust their swords at me. I cringed and thought it would be the end, but when their swords struck me, I didn't feel a thing, and the same surge of lighting that paralyzed the man jolted the soldiers at ten times the force because of their metal armor and killed them on the spot when they tried to hit me. I realized now that Professor Searle's spell had to have been a guarding sacrifice that he placed over me when he was holding onto my hand and cast it.

I regained my focus and gathered the energy for a spell that transported me to a room in the building adjacent. I observed out the window as many more soldiers arrived at the Inn and stormed the building…and strangely another man on separate building's roof who was watching the incident play out, but I didn't get a good view of him."

Cyril chimed in, "Could you make out what he was wearing?"

"Not so much, it was already night by that time. Anyways, there were too many of them now and I had to get out of the area, so I ran out of the building and jumped on a transport wagon that was carrying crates full of vegetables. I kept hidden and went along for the ride without knowing what to do and still in shock that Professor Searle had died so suddenly before my own eyes. I didn't have time to think about what to do next as the wagon at the ended up arriving at the docks at the Western Port only a few minutes later where Calduron ships were being loaded with supplies to bring to the Isle of Luxus. I sneaked onto one of the vessels inside the cargo room along with all the supplies and traveled for a week until it reached the harbor of Luxus. There was tons of food and weapons packed onto the vessel, so I figured that what the man had told Professor Searle must've been somewhat true about going to war and such.

The island was magnificent at the time, and was pristine. Platoons of soldiers marched along the harbor and around the docks, which were constantly busy with men who were unloading the cargo off the ships. The buildings were newly built and had a spectacular design that showed the superiority of Calduron. I remember when I first got off the ship and saw to my right the beautiful Blue Fortress. From the sea it was nearly invisible, but from up close, the superb crystalloid blue of the azurite walls were breathtaking. It must've taken years to gather all that azurite from the Tyberial Mountains... and so eventually I was hired at a mystic's shop."

Cyril marveled at Edmunds story, "Mystic's shop? You mean Berringer's Life Boutique?"

"Yes! You know of it?" Edmund asked surprised.

"Know it? I used to steal from that shop almost every week!" he recalled, smiling and reminiscing of the days that he used to break into the store.

"Are you mad!" Edmund scolded, "We never had a single customer the entire nine years I worked there but somehow the shop slowly emptied out. The idols, potions, crystal balls, even the incense sticks and prophecies…you stole all that? I can't even contemplate as to how…"

Cyril was boasting with maniacal laughter just thinking about all the items he looted.

"That explains everything. You have to tell me!" he pleaded, "Berringer nearly lost his mind try to figure out what was happening! You know he ended up closing his shop and going into exile because of you?"

"Ha! What a lunatic…but sorry there Ed, there's no way, a thief is like a magician," Cyril jeered away, "I'll never reveal what makes me me." They chuckled to themselves, even Captain Rutherford laughed a little bit as he became deeply interested in their conversation.

"Shut up Captain," Cyril sneered.

-"Don't talk down to me mongrel!"

"Take your own advice Captain Rutherford," Edmund cut in, "That reminds me, we have a few issues now that we're at sea." Cyril looked around him, inspecting the ship, "Yeah, first off, this bastard over here…"

The Captain gritted his teeth angrily.

Edmund added, "Let's not forget about the ring. It's still in Luxus, and there's no way we can go back now. They'll have soldiers patrolling every inch of the island.

"There's no mistake that they've already sent ships after you two," Captain Rutherford commented, "Neither of you even know where you're heading. You escaped prison without a plan…hah! Can you believe it? A thief and a Ponderer escaped from prison without thinking twice about what they would do next. You two are lamentable," he smirked insultingly.

Edmund and Cyril looked at each other a bit wearily. The man had a point. They had planned to escape Arroya and search for the ring and book, but they hadn't thought of exactly how they would accomplish that knowing that all of Western Calduron would've been on the lookout for them after they broke out.

Captain Rutherford went on instigating, "And in the process of escaping, you nearly burned the General's face to nothing with your Venificus spells…"

Cyril and Edmund were stunned when they heard the Captain say this.. They both spoke at the same time.

-"Did you say the General?"

-"You know of Venificus?

Cyril's face burned red with rage when he heard Captain Rutherford say 'The General'. On the other hand, Edmund's face drained of blood and became pale when he mentioned Venificus.

Captain Rutherford continued, "All soldiers are aware of Venificus. After the coup, the General made it cle-"

"The General?" Cyril interrupted, "You mean the Brigadier General of the Calduron Army?"

"No." he replied arrogantly, " I mean the former Brigadier General of the Calduron Army, now known simply as 'The General' to those in the military. His full name is Godric Donovan Windsor."

Cyril grabbed Captain Rutherford's head with both of his hands, "Tell me, what does he do now?" he demanded. The Captain noticed that Cyril was becoming very emotional about the subject so he began acting whimsical and taunted him, "Oh the General? You know, he generalizes things…"

Cyril became furious with overwhelming rage, punching the Captain and rattling him, "Tell me now!"

Captain Rutherford only laughed in spite of this, trying to edge Cyril on. Edmund knew that Cyril was on the verge of bursting and that the Captain wouldn't leak any information unless they could agree to a deal.

"Wait a second Cyril, just stand aside," Edmund pushed him aside and braced him, "What do you want Captain? We want information and in return are willing to set you free, but that obviously won't be enough. Tell us what you want."

"What are you doing making offers to this bastard Edmund?" Cyril snapped.

Edmund stared him deep in the eyes,"Just let it be."

Cyril walked away, punching the air in frustration.

The Captain glanced around the deck and at the two captors. He said casually, "I want you to turn yourselves in."

Cyril turned around and he and Edmund both looked at each other opportunistically seeing how blind and ignorant the Captain was to his situation. They simultaneously agreed, "Sure. Okay."

Edmund proceeded, "But information comes before freedom."

"What do you want to know?" The Captain asked.

Cyril spoke first, "I want to know what the General is doing now. Second, I want to know why you insist on staying loyal to traitor and a murderer like himself."

Captain Rutherford cleared his throat and answered his questions. "The General is a great patriot first of all, not a traitor. He saved Calduron from the King before he could force his totalitarianistic ways on the Kingdom and is trying to rebuild the nation. And simply because of that, I serve under him for the good of the Calduron."

Cyril shook his head in disbelief, "Are you that much of a tool? Look at Calduron now. It's worse than ever," he looked over at Edmund, "Like I said before, he doesn't know what he's fighting for. What a fool, I should kill you now," he said, raising his blade.

"Cyril, stop with your emotional thinking and use your intellect, please!" Edmund jumped in.

He stared at Edmund fiercely, "How do you expect me to listen to such idiocy? You said it yourself, these soldiers might as well be dirt, and I'd be glad to be the one who turns them so."

"Did you hear the Captain, Cyril?" Edmund insisted.

"Of course! He's just like the rest of them!"

"Yes! Exactly! Just like the rest of the loyalists, he's been brainwashed. He believes that the military coup was to save Calduron from a supposed dictatorship! How sad! Tell me Emory, do you know who Arden D' Mires was?"

The Captain nodded his head, "The Savior of Calduron…murdered by his own wretched son-"

"No Captain!" he pointed over to Cyril, "You see that man? That is Cyril D' Mires, the son himself!"

His eyes widened upon hearing the revelation. "That can't be. That's a lie! The General had his men capture Cyril D' Mires after he murdered his father and killed him himself, then later stopped the King's takeover!" he protested.

Cyril jumped in, "What the hell are you talking about?! My father was murdered yes, but by my hands, that is impossible! The king never wanted to take over the Kingdom, he already had it! Are you seriously that stupid?!"

"Don't yo-"

"You don't even know the facts!" he looked over to Edmund seeing red but Edmund urged Cyril to continue, " The General is a jealous and greedy man, and before the war my father was under his command in the ranks. He was the first to see the Crescendore Army at the Peace Tribuo when he went on inspection. He sent a messenger to 'the former Brigadier General' who denied the accusation and declared he would arrest my father if he told anyone about it! So instead my father went directly to the king and with that, Calduron went to war.. Afterwards my father became a celebrated hero and was promoted to the High Constable. The first thing he did was relieve The General from his post for threatening my father and because of the reputation the General carried. Within two weeks of this, the General went missing, my father was killed, and the military staged a coup d'état!"

"What the hell are you talking about boy!" the Captain laughed, "You lie li-"

Edmund cut him off, "Now listen to me Captain and listen well. If you say that man at the prison is the General himself, then that means he was the man who killed Professor Searle."

-"He was doing his job"-

"No he wasn't. He tried to acquire Professor Searle's knowledge for his own use, he even said it himself that the king had no idea about him meeting the Professor. Only days after the Professor's murder, the first battle between the two Kingdoms commenced. He's always been a corrupt individual. The Professor made a remark when the General had said he needed Professor Searle for 'their plans'. What does that signal to you?"

Captain Rutherford was caught in turmoil. "This is all lies! You both just want the throne for yourselves!"

"We want justice!" Cyril protested.

"How am I supposed to believe a murderer turned thief and a condemned Ponderer?"

-"I am only a student of a Ponderer"

-"And I am no murderer, I was framed!!" they both shouted

He was horribly confused. The son of Arden D' Mires and a student of a Ponderer were standing before him telling him everything he believed in was a lie, and it wasn't something he could easily accept. But their stories did have a little connection, however miniscule it may be. Captain Rutherford stopped to think it over, coming to no conclusion and becoming frustrated.

Edmund asked in shear hope of convincing the Captain, "You said you know about Venificus, so do you know anything about a very special ring that might have been in Luxus?"

"Yes actually," he explained, "That's why I was stationed in Luxus. I was supposed to watch over Lady Juliana as she got the ring. That's why you and I had gotten into a fight that night, but you ran away like a little rat punk."

Cyril glared at him, "I knew I should've killed you-"

"And I the same!" The Captain scolded. "…I don't know what the ring was for but the General ordered me to help get the ring into Juliana's possession."

Edmund stopped him, "That ring is related to Venificus and the Ponderers. Can you tell me why exactly the General would want it?" The Captain had no answer. "Neither do we, and that's what we are going to find out. We need to get to Broyer so I can get a book called The Magnum Opus from the library that may have a connection to the ring. If I can connect the dots, we might be able to reveal the General's real intentions and show the people of Calduron the truth."

The General sneered. "There's no way you'll get to Broyer Library. You'll be killed before you even reach the docks."

"Yes Emory, that's where you come in."

Captain Rutherford laughed, " You expect me to join you two? There's no way you can prove anything you've told me! You may have me thinking twice, but I still choose to stay loyal to my country rather than to two traitors."

Cyril was sick of hearing the Captain, "Let me kill him."

"No Cyril."

"Let me kill him Ed."

"No!

The Captain watched the two bicker amongst themselves. "He needs to understand the truth! Think if we could get him to join us! He's more than just a tool for either side, he's a messenger! It would only be beneficial to us to have a Calduron soldier. He's a symbol for Calduron, the ignorance that they live in is represented in him, and he has the chance now to believe the truth or stay ignorant…But if he smartens up and listens to the good guys for once, just imagine it…The Son of the Savior of Calduron, A Ponderer's Pupil, and a former Calduron Soldier, all fighting to bring justice back to the Western Calduron. He can help us get into the ranks of the military and start a revolution. He's the key to the military, you're the key to the people, and I'm just the guy who tags along and reads books."

Once again, Edmund had convinced Cyril.

"You know your way with words, damn you." he muttered, "Fine then," he looked over to the Captain, "it's up to you Captain Rutherford. Fight for truth, or drown in lies."

The Captain didn't know what to say. He only stared at them blankly, trying to get things straight in his mind. They asked for too much. How do they plan on starting a revolution? They're two wanted fugitives! How is a lowly Captain supposed to stir his men into believing the exact opposite of they were told and fight for? This man, Cyril, the son of the Savior…Is he even believable? He's supposed to have murdered his father and then been captured and executed by the General and the Legionnaires years ago. And the General…they had a point about the General though. Everyone in the military knows the General has a suspicious character and isn't exactly the most straightforward and honest leader, but he did take the initiative to take control of Calduron and save it, but then again it also could've been a conspiracy for him and whoever else to gain the throne according to their stories. The ring - he thought - was only Lady Juliana's which she had lost, found, and got stolen, then lost again, but now there's supposed to be some magical connection to the ring and a random ancient book? But what did this have to do with anything about the General and Calduron? And what of his comrades, his brothers in arms. Cyril slaughtered them without any hesitation. He couldn't let him just get away with that.

After a few minutes of deep deliberation he finally broke his silence, "…So, you two are instigating that the General is part of a conspiracy to take control of Calduron and possibly even Crescendore, and both of your stories are supposed to be the focal point, the connection and the only leads against the General. Let's be honest, although they are suggestive, its still unconvincing."

"All we need is more time to get things straight," Cyril proposed, " you can help us get the information we need. I didn't kill my father, but someone did, and I want justice for it. Edmund's master died trying to save him from the General, and he wants to avenge his death, you are just a prisoner on a ship who has been made to think," he looked over to Edmund and winked, "now think."

Edmund's willingness to accept the circumstances he found himself in and use them to surpass his own had left an impression on Cyril's own character. His mind screamed to kill the Captain now and end this soldier's life so they could get on with their journey, but his heart knew that the Captain was just another regular man that had been mislead by his leader due the events that took place in Calduron. The times were changing, and the circumstances he found himself in called for new thinking..

"You don't have any right to speak to me!" the Captain shouted, "I admit that yes, you may be on to something, but to me, you're are still both enemies! You killed my men! Not just one, two, or even three, but many! It must've been more than ten, maybe even fifteen…and they weren't just witless soldiers of Calduron as you presume, those men were my brothers. They were my friends. Just as you, Cyril, want to avenge your father's death, and you Edmund want to avenge your Master's death…I want to avenge my brothers' deaths', fifteen times as much!"

Cyril took a step back and sighed deeply. He tried to reason with the Captain, but he did have a point. If he were in the Captain's shoes, he would be yearning for blood, which made him think.

"Captain, you said you want us dead, but Edmund did not kill any soldiers, I did" he tried to explain.

"So be it, then it's your head I want," the Captain beamed.

Cyril continued, "Has anything we said had any effect on your thinking?"

Captain Rutherford looked down, his mind still in turmoil, "I don't know…I cant decide."

"Good, " Cyril said, "How about we agree to let fate decide for you."

Cyril raised his blade. The Sun's rays glimmered off the sword brilliantly. With one slice, he cut off the ropes that had tied down the Captain.

Captain Rutherford was surprise. "What are you doing," he asked. Cyril replied, "I'm going to make a deal with you. You want me dead, and we want you to join us, so this is the deal. You and I will duel each other. It will be a fair fight, swords only, one on one. Edmund cannot interrupt." Edmund was about to speak but Cyril continued, "If you kill me, Edmund must promise to give you the ship and help you return to Luxus or wherever you decide to go and you can bring my body as a token, the only condition being that you let him go free seeing as he caused no harm to you. What do you say Ed?"

Edmund affirmed, "It's a promise."

"…But, if I am able to disarm you or get you to a point where you have no choice but to surrender, then you must help us." Cyril concluded, "So how about it? You can go pick your weapon from the cabin as well. There's quite a selection. Might as well grab yourself a drink while you're at it as well."

Captain Rutherford still didn't know what to do. If he won, he would go back to Luxus and probably get some lousy reward for bringing back Cyril's body that would have no meaning and be thrown out into the streets. And after learning all he had just heard from Cyril and Edmund, it would be impossible to go back and feel proud. His confidence in Calduron had been shaken. If he lost, he would join the men on their journey for their answers, and in all it seemed like a win-win situation. He would have to give up all he had in Calduron, which was really nothing, and risk being considered a traitor. But all that seems like nothing now, knowing that the General and the entire ruling leadership might be misleading the nation and be arranging to conquer the entire Western Continent. The undying thirst for revenge was still dehydrating his sould, and he wanted to quench it.

"In my men's honor, I will accept."

Cyril brought him inside the cabin to select a weapon hanging from the wall. "What a collection," the Captain commented. There hung before them rare, highly tempered and eloquently hand crafted swords, spears, maces, rapiers…

Captain Rutherford inspected each weapon with great detail. Cyril cut the rope that was still tied around the Captain's hands so he could get a true feel of the weapons. He first picked out the long and sturdy claymore. Its thick grip was made of fine black leather. The cross guard was made of pure gold and was shaped like a wide W. A giant blood red ruby was imbedded into the pommel that was also made of gold. It had a very simple, yet intimidating design. The huge blade ran from his feet all the way up to his stomach. It would've been a difficult for an ordinary man to handle, but the Captain had a very strong physique and was able to wield it like a fencing sword. Both edges of the blade were sharpened, which he lightly ran his finger on to see just how sharp it was, meeting his expectations as blood trickled onto the sword. He went outside to practice moving and fighting with it. He made his decision. "This one."

"Alright," Cyril said. He ran back in and threw his sword on the cot, picking up the elegant and swift rapier that he loved. He walked to the doorway and asked, "You sure you don't want that drink, Captain?"

"Not this time."

Cyril went back inside to the dresser and grabbed a bottle. He took a couple large gulps of the hard drink, "Ahh…tss…" He took a few more, "…Alright."

He returned to the deck and saw that the Captain had taken off his armor. He was wearing only a simple dirty white shirt and tight black cotton pants. He was very bulky and muscular and stood tall and firm.

Edmund sat back on the staircase, watching as the men stood facing each other and readying themselves. As Cyril practiced the movements of his sword, he observed the deck so he had an overview of his strategy. First of all, he wouldn't be able to go for direct attacks seeing as the rapier he was using was no match for a strong and powerful claymore. He would have to wear the Captain down or really have to work hard to dodge and block in order to find the right moment to strike. He also wasn't going for the kill, and the Captain was a well built man that could take a few hits, so he would have to aim for the hands and arms to, which would be hard when he's trying to dodge the ferocious incoming swings. The Sun was behind Captain Rutherford, meaning he would have to switch positions with him somehow to use it to his advantage. But then again, the mast was behind him, and he could use that as an evade and attacking position. The Captain only stood patiently waiting for Cyril to get situated.

"What are the rules of engagement?" he asked Cyril.

"Don't kill me." he requested.

They got in their stances, the Captain had his sword to his side with his left leg forward. Cyril stood straight with his rapier pointed in front of him towards the ground and his other hand behind his back. They stood patiently, waiting for the other to make the first move. Beads of sweat began to roll down from the Captains forehead. It was just entering the afternoon time and the sun was still burning hot. The ocean was serene which made it nearly perfect grounds for a duel, except for the little sway here and there. The Captain let out a howl before lunging at Cyril.

He charged, swinging his sword upwards. Cyril leapt to the right and rolled back onto his feet, pointing his rapier at the Captain, swaying his blade left and right.

Captain Rutherford came again, this time thrusting his sword at Cyril's stomach who countered it by stepping to the left and parrying the sword down. This left him an opening from which he could make his riposte by punching the Captain in the jaw.

He stumbled back a little after the blow then regained his balance. Cyril was a clever fighter. He wouldn't just attack straightforward. The Captain had to draw him in, make Cyril think he has a shot at him, then he could strike.

The Captain raised his sword. A ripple of reflection beamed down the shimmering metal before he grabbed it with both hands and again lunged at Cyril.

Cyril sprinted towards the Captain, his sword in his right hand at his side. The Captain grunted as he put all his strength into his downwards slash. Cyril swung his rapier left to parry with the blow. Their blades scraped against each other creating a beleaguering high pitched squeal as sparks shot out from the contact.

Cyril swiveled around and elbowed the Captain directly on the mouth, the Captain recoiling back in pain. He grabbed his mouth and stared at the blood that was all over his hands. He grabbed his sword again with both hands and spat blood onto the floor. Frustration was showing on his face and he started to lose him composure.

Cyril didn't give him any time and ran at the Captain as he stood holding his mouth and wincing in pain. He caught the Captain off guard by jumping into the air and slicing with all his power downwards. The Captain blocked the first strike but Cyril kept coming and jumped again, this time spinning in the air to gain momentum for a more powerful attack, but Captain Rutherford was able to block it.

As Cyril continued to rush at him, the Captain retreated, blocking each of Cyril's attempted strikes. Cyril made a false move by trying to stab at his foe, who in return knocked Cyril's rapier out of the way and kicked him back.

He yelled out and began swinging wildly, slicing down and back up and spinning with his sword extended out, but Cyril was too agile and would barely tap the man's sword as he back stepped defending himself.

Edmund watched horrifically as the Captain swung with unrestrained recklessness. He flinched every time the swords would clang against each other and would yell out, "Watch it!" or "Ahh!" as he spectated on the fight.

The Captain uncontrollably flung his sword at Cyril's head, but he ducked in time and tackled the Captain onto the ground. They both dropped their swords as they plummeted onto the deck. Cyril rained a storm of punches at the Captain who then grabbed his hair and threw Cyril off him to the side. They quickly stood up backed to their sides. "You've been disarmed Captain," he pointed out.

"And so have you."

The duel had become to unpredictable for Cyril to make any real strategic plan against his foe. He just had to improvise. They both took time to catch their breath before attacking again.

There was a flurry of movement as the men came at each other with only their fists. Cyril threw a punch with his left hand but barely missed his face.

Captain Rutherford saw his moment and upper cut Cyril, pounding his jaw up and launching him in the air as he landed flat on his back. Cyril was dazed and in pain from the blow and it took him a few seconds to stand up.

The Captain had reclaimed his sword by the time Cyril was standing and made a full force slash at Cyril who just barely dodged the swing and fell backwards.. The Captains sword struck the rail and became lodged in the ship.

Cyril jumped onto the Captain from the side, grabbing his neck with his arm and throwing him down onto the floor. He tried to make a last effort to reach his rapier only a few feet away but the Captain grabbed his foot as he crawled towards the rapier, pulling Cyril back to him, but Cyril struggled to break free and kicked the Captain as he was straining to hold on and keep Cyril away from the sword, allowing Cyril to slip away from his grasp. He quickly leapt for his rapier and rolled up onto his feet. Cyril took time to regain his breath and assess the situation. Captain Rutherford had become a much better fighter now that he had his armor off. He already had power and now a boost in speed, but not as much speed and agility that he had.

The Captain got up and ripped his sword from the wooden railing. He was breathing hard and trying to gain back his focus, but when he turned to his opponent he saw Cyril charging at him before he could ready his blade.

Cyril ran and jumped to the side onto the rail and thrust his sword down at the Captain as he came down. The Captain blocked it by swinging his sword and knocking Cyril's rapier out of his hands and out of the way, but Cyril still came crashing down on Captain Rutherford, his knee crushing into the Captains torso, knocking the breath right out of him.

The Captain curdled over in agony, coughing and moaning as he tried to regain his breath. Cyril rolled over and stood up. He could see he had just won the fight.. He casually made his way to his rapier and picked it up. The Captain was still on the floor, grabbing his chest and gasping for air. When he opened his eyes he saw Cyril standing over him and the rapier aimed directly at his heart.

He shut his eyes in despair, still breathing heavily, as he came to acknowledge his defeat.

"Welcome to the crew, Captain."

He held out his hand, but the Captain blankly stared at it, ashamed of his defeat. He failed to avenge his fallen men and thoughts rushed into his head about what he was about to get himself into now that he had lost the deal. Edmund stepped down onto the deck and came over to the Captain's side.

"Quite a thrill! Although it was fast. But don't be disappointed Captain," he said reassuringly, "You can fight for your men still, but this time for the right reasons." Edmund also held out his hand.

Captain Rutherford looked down and back up at the men, thinking about the stories they told him and if he could truly believe them. It was all quite farfetched, but seeing as he had no other option and took pride in being an honorable soldier, the Captain grabbed both of their hands and they pulled him up swiftly onto his feet. He turned to Cyril who spoke to him, "I apologize for your comrades," he said holding out his hand.

Captain Rutherford shook his head and was about to walk away, but he stopped himself. He could tell that Cyril was only being genuine and trying to start over on good terms. Destiny had lead him to this life changing point, where he would be part of an attempt by two outlaws to bring their alleged truth and justice back to Calduron. Remembering the stories they told, Cyril being the son of the Savior of Calduron, and the scenes he witnessed of Edmund using Venificus, it became clear to him that this would be no ordinary journey. He grabbed Cyril's hand and gave him a firm shake, "So how about that drink?" the Captain muttered from his sore and bloodied mouth.

CHAPTER 5

Storm clouds were forming in the distance as evening approached, concealing the sight of the future that lay before them. Waves were beginning to slam into the ships hull, rattling the men who had confided themselves to the cabin. Cyril and Captain Rutherford sat quietly, sipping their drinks as Edmund studied the map of Ananthea that was imbedded into the mahogany desk.

"Excuse me," the Captain mumbled as he put his drink down on the small coffee table. He got up and swayed to the left a little bit from the combination of surging waves and liquor. He walked outside and stretched his arms, yawning obnoxiously.. The blood rushed back into his head, making him a little lightheaded. He looked up at the darkening sky, hoping to get a glimpse of the celestial objects before the clouds claimed them for themselves, but his hazy vision prevented him from distinguishing what was what. The Captain stammered to side, catching onto a railing as a large wave pounded the side of the ship. His face turned a greenish yellow as sea sickness and liquor took their toll on his weak stomach. He ran over to the side, tripping here and there until he finally reached the edge and disgorged himself. The ship moved on its side, nearly causing the Captain to fall out of the ship.

"What are you reading over there," asked Cyril. He got up from his seat and waltzed over to Edmund. He peered over his shoulder to get a good view, "Nice map."

Edmund was studying the map intently. He had one finger on one position on the map and another on a drawing of two islands. He looked over to Cyril, "You see these two little islands? Well, I think this is where we are, and these two islands are where we want to be" he said, pointing at the picture, "I've searched all of the ship already but there's only empty cannons and other unusable things like ropes and extra lumber. Since we don't have any provisions-"

-"We've got liquor!" Cyril boasted, smiling and raising his glass to Edmund's face, but he refused the drink.

"…Since we don't have any supplies other than liquor," he corrected himself, "It's imperative we stop at the Morana-Aisling Islands to load the ship for the time being."

Cyril had a puzzled look on his face…and a drunken one. "Eh, why Moron? What?" he blurted, making a nuisance of himself.

"Yes…I think I'll explain this to you later…"he replied. Edmund walked around the desk and grabbed the compass. He opened the door and stepped outside, but before he closed the door he heard Cyril ranting, "Hey! You're a moron!" then slammed the door.

The clouds overhead were dark grey and dense now. The sails were flapping recklessly against the masts as the wind began to pick up with increasing force. Edmund noticed Captain Rutherford leaning dangerously over the edge, so he walked over to him and pulled him back before he fell overboard.

"That's not a good idea Captain."

Captain Rutherford mumbled some words that were incomprehensible and wobbled his way back to the cabin. Edmund walked up to the helm and took the steering wheel in one hand while in the other hand held the compass, calculating the compass's directions.

The Morana-Aisling islands were directly south of Luxus, and the ship was heading southwest. He rolled the wheel and the ship roughly turned left as the waves crashed against it. The storm was gaining strength - not a good sign for such a large vessel with only a crew of three, two of which were leaves in the wind. Bright flashes of red light appeared out at sea in the direction they were heading, but strangely it didn't appear to be lightning. Still, only moments later, the explosive after shock of thunder crackled through the air.

Edmund returned to the cabin to find Cyril and Captain Rutherford talking and laughing amongst themselves. The liquor must've been very strong if it got these two to chat with each other like such good friends, but it was a very clever by Cyril to use it as a medium to get the Captain on the same level.

"…I bet he's got one under his hair!" They burst into laughter.

"What's this nonsense gentlemen?" Edmund jumped in.

"Say, Edmund…what's under that hair of yours?" Cyril lisped teasingly.

Edmund chortled and flicked his hair to the side, revealing his…well, other eye, "My other eye of course. Nothing unusual about it, no?"

The two befuddled men glanced at each other in disappointment. "Ahh! What a kill…all the suspense and mysteriousness for nothing!"

Edmund laughed and walked over to the cot, collapsing onto the soft, silky sheets. "A scholar alone isn't something that one would normally fear unless they were challenged to an arithmetic competition, so I thought it would be a good idea to add some melodramatic appearance to my look."

Cyril and Captain Rutherford gazed at each other, trying to hold in their laughter.

"Anyways, here's the deal men," he began to speak, "There's a storm ahead and we're heading straight into it."

Cyril cut in, "Any particular reason?"

"I tried to explain it to you earlier. We have to stop at the Morana-Aisling islands to pick up supplies. I'm thinking that once we do so we can head straight for Crescendore since we have one of their ships. No one would think twice as to hold us up, so we'll start piecing together this puzzle from the National Archives in the capital city. It's nearly as extensive as the library in Broyer, so with all luck we might be able to find some information. I also have an old acquaintance that stays in a building across, and he might be able to lend us some guidance," he related to them. He started twirling the compass in his hand, "He and I share…I guess you could call it common knowledge, and ideals, so I'm positive that he'll be helpful."

"Can we trust him though?" Cyril asked.

Edmund nodded his head, "Absolutely. I don't know any other man in the world whom I could trust more."

Captain Rutherford got excited and jumped up from his chair. "Did you say Morana?"

Edmund nodded and tossed the compass to Cyril, who was completely unaware of the flying object and it banged his head. Edmund broke into laughter while Cyril looked around suspiciously, wondering what just happened.

Captain Rutherford continued with his enthusiastic felicitations," That's perfect! I have several old comrades there that used to be soldiers of the Army…," his tone became depressed, "…well actually, at second thought, I wouldn't really call them comrades…nor would they call me…"

"But you say 'former' soldiers?" Edmund inquired, emphasizing on the word 'former', "That's intriguing… what are they doing in Morana?"

The Captain cantered around and leaned against the desk, "These men had abandoned the ranks after the civil war. They believed just as you two that there was something wrong about the coup and they didn't want to be part of the new military government, so they fled to Morana because it's the only true safe haven between Calduron and Crescendore besides the Peace Tribuo. At the time I thought of them as traitors, but now …"

He thought on to himself quietly.

"That's great news. More men for the cause!" Cyril cheered.

"No no…I wouldn't be so hasty with your presumptions," the Captain explained, "…back then I had only been in the Army for less than a year and I had a lot of that young man's pride in my head. When I heard they were going to flee, I reported it to my commanding officer and we gathered a platoon to attempt to arrest them before they could run, but those men were great warriors, and were lead by none other than Major Ambrose Rousseau. We waited for them at the docks where the two of you had also escaped. Soon enough, we saw a group of men, about nine or ten, and Major Rousseau leading the way. When they arrived at the docks, the other guards didn't even wait to speak to them, they just blindly attacked. It was a huge mistake. The Major and his men massacred those guards in a blink of an eye."

"And where were you in the midst of this?" asked Edmund.

"I was there. I fought with my men of course, but we never had a chance. When the resistance killed off the first of the men, there were only three of us left. Cyril might remember the other two men…" he said, grabbing his head in his hands.

Cyril leaned back in his chair and sipped his drink. He spoke softly, "…I truly am sorry Rutherford…"

"…Anyways, they left us there. They surrounded us and I remember he stepped up to us. Major Rousseau put his sword back in its scabbard and declared that he and his men were not murderers and asked us to join them. It's strange to think back to it now, because it reminds me of when you two captured me on this ship…"

"Almost as if foreshadowing your future," Edmund commented.

"…I guess. But of course, we refused, and they disarmed us and left us there before stealing a ship and sailing off. That was the last anyone ever saw or heard of them. I just wish I had been smarter and left with them."

"Intriguing…" Edmund thought out loud, "…were there any other resistances like this?"

Captain Rutherford thought for a minute. "I'm not too sure about the details about this one. It happened some time after Major Rousseau and his men escaped. I was stationed at the base in Broyer and some officers were talking about the General's brother-"

Cyril jumped out of his seat, "The General has a brother?!"

"Yes. He has two actually, but one of them died mysteriously after the military coup, " he stopped to take a drink.

"What were their names?" Edmund inquired.

"Like I said, I'm not sure on all the details. But from what I heard, his surviving brother was a former Legionnaire that defected after the coup. He, a high ranking officer of the military, and a lieutenant or captain of a ship in the navy planned to make an escape. What he didn't know was that one of those officers was in on the whole coup and was working together with the General to keep an eye on his brother, so he reported this to him of course."

Edmund looked to Cyril and back at Captain Rutherford, "Why would the General want to spy on his own brother?"

He took another sip and continued, "From my own estimation, I thought since his brother was a Legionnaire, that meant he was somewhat close to the King-"

"In other words a loyalist," Cyril chimed in.

"-Yes. We all know the Legionnaires are the King's personal army, so that meant that someone had to have convinced them to turn on the King or else the Calduron Army never would have been able to single handedly take control - the Legionnaires are just too good. I'm guessing that the General might have used his brother in one way or another to get the Legionnaires to revolt."

Edmund started to hypothesize, "It's quite possible that the General's brother was still devoted to the king afterwards, and thus would not have wanted to support the new leadership, especially considering the fact that he would have to serve his own brother whose true nature he must've known much better than any one of us."

Cyril tried to add his own thoughts, "So…after the coup, the General might've been suspicious of his brother's activities-"

Edmund cut him off, "But what doesn't make sense, is that if the General used his brother, wouldn't that mean that his brother would have been supporting him somehow? So why would he want to help his brother take over and then want to leave?"

They paused and thought about the possibilities for a minute until Captain Rutherford continued.

"Well that just adds more to the mystery. But as I was saying, the General was keeping an eye on his brother, and the night he was planning on leaving, the General stepped into his quarters and captured him himself. After that they sent him away to Arroya, but he escaped-"

"Escaped?!" Cyril choked on his drink, "How is that possible?"

"The Windsor's are warriors by blood. They've been gifted with awesome strength and fighting abilities for as long as anyone has ever known. So he must've been able to break through his chains and escape. There gifts were no better displayed than during the first war between Calduron and Crescendore almost 400 years ago."

"Wait," Edmund recalled, "You mean Raynord Windsor?"

Captain Rutherford nodded, "Raynord Windsor, one of the great commanders of the first war. All of his descendants since have been high ranking officers in both the Army and Legionnaires."

"That explains the General's excessive ego…" Cyril laughed.

"Yes…he believes that his family is the rightful heirs to Calduron!" Edmund surmised, "Do you know about Raynord Windsor Cyril?"

"I'm listening…"

"Simply put, Raynord Windsor was the man who crushed Crescendore and was able to bring about their surrender. He was an awesome warrior, and many people believed that he should've been offered the throne because in all honesty, he was the reason Calduron won. But he was a good and modest man and only accepted the title of Field Marshall, the second highest rank just below your father's, Cyril."

Cyril had a puzzled look on his face, "Listen…I've had a few too many too drink alright? And this is a lot of information for me to process…"

Edmund rolled his eyes, "Alright listen carefully, ill try to put the pieces together for you. Raynord Windsor was a hero that many believed should've been King. 400 years later, Godric Windsor, the descendant of Raynord, believes he has the utmost right to the throne and puts together a coup and takes over Calduron. His brother whom he used to do so must have had some roll in it that he didn't want and tried to leave, but the General found out and sent him to Arroya. From there, he somehow escaped, right Captain?"

"Yes, yes," he affirmed.

"But what about the two other guys, the officer and the lieutenant..." Cyril asked, "Who were they and what happened to them?"

"Like I said, I don't know who those people are, only that the officer was working with the General already. The other man, the lieutenant, must have been killed or rethought his position and became a loyalist to the new regime," he paused for a second, "…I still just wish I had left sooner," the Captain sighed and shook his head, "…I never realized the signs before…"

"That's no matter anymore Captain. There is a new future ahead and that's where we're going now. And it seems as though you've been given a second chance," Edmund reassured. An awkward silence filled the room for a few minutes until Cyril finally broke in and brought the original subject back.

"You know, I've met Major Rousseau before."

Captain Rutherford and Edmund looked over at him as he explained, "Actually, many times. He was one of my father's good friends. I used to hear stories about the military from them all the time. It was from listening to both of them that I learned about the General. He even gave me this scarf back then and I never took it off since…well except while taking a bath of course."

Edmund got up from the cot with a shot of energy, "In that case, that could be outstanding news for us."

"How?" The Captain asked.

"Both of you have a connection to Major Rousseau. Although Captain Rutherford's is a bit on the negative side, you on the other hand have a real relationship with him because of your father. If we are able to find him, that relationship might help us to get him on our side. And if he still remembers Captain Rutherford, it might also encourage him as well seeing that even now, soldiers are beginning to wise up to the truth."

It made perfect sense. The men became enthusiastic and optimistic about the future meeting with the first resisting force. Cyril made a little prayer in thanks to his father for being such a swell man in his days. They continued to chat amongst themselves, telling the captain the story of their escape from their perspective. The ship was still rocking hard from side to side, and the men could hear the strong gusts of wind as it whistled around the ship.

"I'm just going to check the deck," Edmund said as he got up and walked out the door. The strong winds made it hard to open the door as it kept pushing back against him. And when he finally got through, the door blew straight back, slamming into place. The air was abnormally warm, especially in the middle of a storm. And at second thought, it wasn't even raining.

Edmund struggled to keep his balance as the enormous waves and powerful gusts kept budging him all over the place. He was able to grab onto the staircase railings just as a massive waves crashed into boat and splashed all over the deck. Edmund looked out past the bow towards the obscured horizon and could barely see what looked like an ominous red opening in the storm that would increase and decrease in brightness. Edmund was confused when he saw the display and slowly made his way back to the cabin. But when he got to the door and tried to open it, the vigorous winds kept the door shut tight. He started banging on the door and yelling for help from the men inside and soon enough the Captain appeared through a crack as he used all his strength to force the door open.

Edmund just barely squeezed through and fell to the floor as the door slammed back in its hinges.

"Maybe you shouldn't be going out there anymore Ed," Cyril joked as the Captain helped Edmund get up off the floor.

"I saw a clearing in the storm not too far from our position. At our pace, we might reach there by midday tomorrow…"

"Thank god!" Cyril exclaimed, "Liquor and ships don't mix as well as you'd think. What do you say Captain?"

Captain Rutherford's eyes were in a fixed daze and his cheeks were puffed out as if he was about to explode.

"…but I did notice something strange when I was observing. Were in the middle of storm, but there's no rain. The clearing I saw was reddish in color rather than blue, and the air is strangely warm."

The two men listened but paid little attention to Edmund's observations when they noticed that over on the dresser the last bottle dancing with the waves and teasing their starving eyes. Edmund rolled his eyes in wonder how they could be so insensible at a time such as this. The men eyed each other, then made a quick attempt for the bottle, leaping to the dresser and crashing into each other, plummeting onto the floor like two boulders.

The bottle tipped over, spilling its sweet nectar and shattering into oblivion. The two men grimaced in dismay when they saw the bottle break into pieces. Edmund watched from the rear window sill in glee, turning and observing the sea behind them as it slowly began to dissipate into calmness. He realized that the room had become silent and noticed that the two men were still lying on the floor motionless. He moved over to them and saw that they were passed out, drooling and snoring peacefully.

Edmund took the placid environment as a sign to get himself some rest and hopefully sleep off the storm before the next day began and he would have to deal with the men after their all night binging.

The whistles and pounding were starting to become less and Edmund was able to roll into his sleep with the harmonious waves.

The next morning came unexpectedly fast and the Sun's rays were magnified by the large array of windows. Edmund woke quickly upon noticing that daylight had returned and glanced around, finding himself alone in the cabin. He got up from the cot and stretched. The room was a clutter from the night before and it smelled strongly of booze. Chairs were turned over and empty bottle pieces were strewn all around the floor, reflecting the incoming light and gleaming like stars. Some of the decors that hung from the walls had fallen onto the ground from the force of the waves that frequently pounded the ship. Drawers were hanging from the dresser hinges with the clothes spread all over like they wanted to be worn by the dresser itself.

He noticed a nice white, long sleeve button up shirt that had ruffled cuffs and he walked over and picked it up. Edmund had wanted to rid himself of his robe ever since he escaped from Arroya as it had become such a mess. He tore of his robe and wore the shirt. It was a little tight but it would be good enough for the time being.

Edmund grabbed the compass from off the floor and stepped outside. The light was blinding at first, but his eyes soon adjusted the daylight. Cyril was standing on the bow looking out at the sea. Edmund walked over to Cyril while glancing to the right to see the Captain sitting on the steps, waving his hand with his head down in anguish.

"Good morning," Cyril greeted as he heard Edmund step up behind him, "Is it just me or is there some debris floating way over there." He pointed to where he thought he could see some material drifting haphazardly in the waters.

"Yeah it seems so," he replied, "Maybe we should go check it out. It could be wreckage from another ship, possibly from Calduron." Edmund opened up the compass to check in which direction they were heading. The ship had been blown a bit off course and they were headed south east towards the western coasts of Crescendore, although they were still far from visibility of the land. He trekked back to the helm and called out to Cyril, "Any dreams?"

"None of your concern!" he shouted back.

He passed by the Captain who was still slumped on the stairs. When he got to the wheel, he noticed that the there were some holes in the sails, which didn't make any sense. He turned the wheel and the ship dipped right, towards the floating debris.

As the debris got closer, Cyril climbed up the canvas and up into the crows nest. He gazed out but still couldn't identify as to what the debris was. Then when he looked up out into the horizon he saw a small cloud of smoke. He wasn't sure as to exactly where it was coming from, but in any case he swung down onto the deck and reported his findings to the other two.

"We're getting closer," he said.

"Did you see what it was?"

"Nah not really, just looked like a clump of wood or something…" Cyril paused, "…but I did see some smoke rising way out there."

"Did you see what it was?" the Captain asked coming out of his queasiness .

Acting sarcastically like a Calduron soldier, he stood at attention with his feet firmly together and his hand at his heart nd replied, "Negative Captain, it's still quite a distance away." The Captain rolled his eyes and walked down the steps.

"It might be the ship that this debris had come from," Edmund said without much thought to it. He stood on his toes, trying to a glimpse of the smoke but Cyril was right and it was still too far away.

The wind began to pick up a little and the ship moved a bit faster. They all took it easy at their newly claimed stations, with Edmund at the wheel, the Captain pacing in between the main and mizzen masts, and Cyril just about everywhere else on deck.

As they got closer to the debris, Cyril stood and leaned out from the bow of the ship to get a good view as the material floated by. When he could finally get a good look, he was shocked by what he discovered.

"What is it?" Edmund shouted from the helm.

Cyril's voice was shaky, "It…It's…a man!" he yelled.

Edmund shouted to the Captain below him, "Did he say? A man?" They both looked bewildered and ran down to where Cyril was standing. They leaned over the side and saw that it really was a man, floating on top of a few broken pieces of wood and a thin wooden pole sticking out of his shoulder. He seemed to be either dead or unconscious.

Cyril ran to the other side of the ship and grabbed an extra canvas net that had been ripped off the mast by the wind. Quickly he handed it to the Captain who threw it over the man's lifeless body as it continued to float ever so slowly by them.

"Why the hell did you throw it!" Cyril screamed at the Captain. Captain Rutherford stared blankly at him, still dazed and confused. Cyril jumped in and swam towards the man, trying to be careful not to budge the pole that was sticking out of him. He grabbed hold around his torso, causing the man to flinch and make a weak moan.

"He's still alive!" Cyril shouted. Edmund frantically ran about the ship until he finally came across a rope and threw it to Cyril who wrapped it around his arm securely. Edmund began pulling them to the side of the ship but he wasn't strong enough and couldn't pull them up.

"What are you doing!" he scolded the Captain. He was still in a deep stupor and was only watching as Cyril and Edmund struggled to get the man on the ship. When Edmund shouted at him he stammered and remembered his place, quickly grabbing the rope and pulling the men safely onboard.

"Quick! We have take out the rod!" Edmund said as he kneeled by the mans side, "Be careful and go slow."

Cyril grabbed the pole and slowly started pulling it but the man screamed in agony, 'No! Ahh! Stop…stop!" Cyril let go and looked over the man not knowing what to do. "Look this guy next to me can help you, you just have to let me take it out!"

They saw that the man had four massive gashes like a giant claw had swiped across his chest and the blood was beginning to converge under the man and a small puddle was forming around him. His face was torn to shreds. There wasn't even a chance of identifying him.

"…no…I…I'm already d-dead," he moaned as he took deep breathes trying to force the words out, "…M-Morana…is g-gone…"

The three of them were startled by what the man just said.

"What do you mean Morana is gone?" Cyril asked nervously.

The man groaned and coughed trying to speak, "It's gone… destroyed…e-everything…"

Edmund began to concentrate and move his arms over the man. He chanted the words:

Vigoratus Vulnus…Restituo Stipatores Vires…

They were the same words he used on Cyril at the prison.

Vigoratus Vulnus…Restituo Stipatores Vires…

"…No!" the man screamed, "…it w-was yo-you…" he convulsed violently and hit Edmund, breaking his concentration, "Your cur-cursed t-t-tongue!-he whimpered in pain-…don't s-speak…"

Edmund was confused, "Listen I'm only trying to help you! I can heal your wounds!" He held his hands over the man again.

"N-no…y-you…killed them…damn you…get away!" he squirmed and hit Edmunds arms.

"You're going to die if-"

"T-then let m-me die!" he shouted out, "…I kn-know…you m-m-made that m-monster… you…y-you created that…f-fire storm…you insane…"

The man choked on his own blood and started shaking violently. He screamed and grabbed his heart as he began to convulse. They didn't understand what to do. The man would die in a matter of seconds if Edmund didn't administer his aid, but the man kept insisting that Edmund had destroyed and killed everyone in Morana and wouldn't let him use Venificus. Cyril suddenly realized what the man was trying to say.

"What creature are you talking about man?" he asked, "What happened?" He knelt down next to him as the man coughed vigorously.

The man grabbed Cyril's collar and tried to speak, "it…it w…was…w-white…enormous ha…hands," he gathered his breath, "…there was f-f-fi…fire…and…w-whispers…"

Cyril and Edmund looked at each other in despair. They knew exactly what he was trying to say. Cyril asked the man worriedly, "…The oceans, they were raging fiercely…and the monster…it was the color of the moon wasn't it?…Big square head, flat face, scaly body…"

The man started to cry deep, loud sobs.

Cyril went on describing"…and the fire came from the clouds…"

"Y-y-yes…" he whined.

"…You tried to fight, didn't you…" Cyril's eyes began to sparkle from the tears that were collecting on the edge of his eyelids. Edmund and the Captain were trying to hold back their own and looked out to the sea, just listening.

"…i-it swept m-me…in…the-the air…" the man said shaking and looked down at the four gouges on his chest. He placed his trembling hand on one and lightly felt the length of it, wincing as he touched his own flesh.

Cyril covered his face as tears began to trickle down his cheeks. He had seen the man in his dream. The man he saw that was hit into the air, that was this man. It was real, all real.

"P-pl-please…h-help the rest…"he pleaded, "…if-if…there are any…"

"Of course!" Cyril screamed in frustration, "We're going there right now! But please let us help you sir, please! This isn't the man you think he is! He can help you!"

The man slowly moved his head side to side, "N-no…after…a-after a-all of this…I…I'd r-r-rather be dead…"

The tears were streaming from Cyril and Edmund as they listened to this bereaving conversation. Captain Rutherford only watched in pity, fearful of what he had gotten himself into.

The man hurdled blood from his mouth and moaned in horrible pain. He grabbed Cyril's red scarf and pulled him closer.

"Y-y…y'know…y-you look j-just like y-your f-f-father…" he said quietly. The men were astounded. Cyril couldn't believe what he had just heard. His voice became shaky as his emotions rushed to his head, "Wh…how do you know me?...How do you know my father?" he cried. The man smiled weakly, his blood encrusted lips shelving out his last words, "hmph…that…w-was my…f-f-favorite s-scarf."

The man's smile slowly deceased as his last breath escaped from him and his eyes slowly closed. Captain Rutherford's jaw dropped and his eyes were wide with surprise. Cyril whispered, "…Major…Major Rousseau…"

Then his voice became tense.

"Ambrose Rousseau!" he shouted at the man, shaking him in hopes of life still lingering somewhere in his cold body. Cyril started sobbing heavily. The Captain looked gloomily down at the floor, his head hung with dashed hopes.

"Major Rousseau…" he said quietly.

Edmund continued to look on at the sea. This occasion had become too much for him and he didn't want to feel any of it, so he stormed away and climbed up to the bird's nest. Cyril stayed there, kneeling before him and thinking of when Major Rousseau had given him the scarf…

'Here you go little D.'

(he wrapped the scarf around Cyril's neck)

'It was my son's, before he passed on. He was a good kid, I hope your father has raised one too.'

'Of course he did! I'm the best there is! Right dad?!'

(Cyril cheered, Arden smiled and gave him the thumbs up in approval)

'I'll need more proof than that!'

(Ambrose smiled and ruffed Cyril's hair)

'I'll rule the entire Kingdom, and everyone will be rich and happy and full to their stomachs!'

'Sounds good to me little D. Don't stop till it's true…'

…And after so many years he finally meets Major Rousseau again, but this time he's dead in his arms. Cyril couldn't believe this moment. His life had brought him all the way out here in the middle of the ocean with a Ponderer, Calduron soldier, and his father's best friend ripped to pieces.

"Cyril we've got to find out what really happened at Morana," the Captain spoke calmly. His eased tone made Cyril furious, "Keep your mouth shut Rutherford! What the hell were you doing just standing there acting like a total idiot! We already know what happened there! What are we supposed to do now…" he continued to talk to himself.

Edmund stared out into the horizon trying to locate the smoke. He now guessed that the smoke must've been coming from the Morana-Aisling islands and he needed to know where he was supposed to sail. The smoke actually wasn't too far off now, approximately 200, 205 nautical mile Edmund guessed. But he knew the old saying that when you're at sea, any calculation you make on distance you should at least double and you might be closer to the true distance. In any manner, he climbed back down and went to the helm to turn the ship to its proper course. Once it was sailing in the right direction, he walked into the cabin and grabbed the silk sheet from the cot and brought it outside to Cyril, who sitting back against the side rails with his head down between his legs.

He didn't want to bother him so he took the sheet and spread it out on the deck. "Captain, grab his feet." They both lifted Major Rousseau onto the silk sheet and wrapped it around him tightly.

Cyril glanced up and saw them carrying away the body. "Don't just throw him overboard!" he yelled. The Captain and Edmund agreed, "Fine, we'll put him in the cabin and bury him when we hit Morana." They went inside and laid him down on the cot. The Captain saluted his body and walked back outside. Edmund sighed deeply at the tragic loss. He felt bad for Cyril, and now he had to think of what to do next when they arrived at the island.

Morana was a beautiful island with a traditional native folk that lived there in peace. Its white sandy beaches and friendly people would invite scores of travelers from all over the world to its shores. Why would someone want to destroy such a peaceful island? The man had also bore witness to Cyril's exact dream. Could Cyril's dream have been behind the attacks? No, that would be impossible, it had to be someone else. The Major also wouldn't let Edmund come near him or heal him in fear of the words that he spoke, which meant that the words he heard throughout the air were the same as the ones that Cyril dreamt about, and those words he didn't fully understand himself. What if when they arrive there, everything has been destroyed? What will they do then? They were expecting to gather supplies and reinforcements, but now it turns out that that'll probably be the last thing they'll do there. Besides Cyril's dream and the Major's testimony, they had nothing else to explain what went on at Morana. They were going to have to search long and hard for the answers to the horrific incidents that took place there, that was for sure.

Just as Edmund was about to get up, the cabin door burst open and Cyril came barging in. He collapsed onto a chair with his hand on his face.

"What do we do Ed…" he spoke quietly.

He replied, "…This time, I don't really know."

The room stayed silent as they stared at the Major's body.

Cyril shook his head, "My dream was real…it came true...."

The Captain then entered the room again and found the two talking.

"What does it mean? Am I the one who did it?"

"I doubt you did it Cyril. Don't forget the words that were spoken in your dreams. There was definitely someone else that had to do with this." Edmund reassured Cyril.

The Captain cut in, 'There's no reason to over think things right now Cyril. There's something going on at Morana and we need to focus on finding out."

"What the hell are you talking about Rutherford?" Cyril argued, "Where were you during all of this? Could you really be as stupid as you were today?"

"I don't handle liquor too well, alright? What else can I say? I'm sorry that another person close to you has died, but welcome to life!"The Captain shouted, "Now we are even, and neither of us is any happier. So what should we do now? Should we continue to whine and lament over his death or should we start trying to find out the answers?"

Cyril looked away and smirked.

"Don't be arrogant Cyril, Captain Rutherford is right," added Edmund, "I'm sorry this is all happening so fast, but this is how life works. We live today and we die today, one piece of us at a time…"

"I don't need a lecture on life. I know how 'life works' Edmund, and if you did too then you would shut the hell up and start blowing us faster to Morana so we don't waste any more time."

Animosity filled the room and the stench of it was driving everything out of control. The Captain noticed this and decided to go outside.

"What are you going to do Cyril?" Edmund asked concerned.

"Look…I apologize Edmund, but I never expected anything like this to ever happen at all! Ever since I found that ring, my life has turned another 1800 and I'm struggling to understand all that's going on. To think that I would find my father's best friend torn to pieces in the middle of the ocean nine years after being forced into fleeing my country, I mean, the night I found that ring I was just minding my own business smoking a chillum to myself. I was already used to being nothing. But now all of a sudden I'm finding myself in the middle of everything that I could never even imagine. To be honest, I don't even know why I decided to take up this task. Wh-"

"Cyril! Come on, friend. Listen to yourself," Edmund tried to reason with him, "Just stop…take it easy. Go outside, get some fresh air…or go sleep, change your clothes, anything! Just do something and stop worrying! The more you worry about what happened or what will happen, the less open you will be to the things that have to happen. You're never going to change your past, and you can't control the future, so stop crying and just work in the now, whatever that means."

A bottle rolled and bumped against Cyril's foot. He picked it up and started to look it over.

"Look at Captain Rutherford," Edmund continued, " The man wanted to cut us to pieces because of what happened to his men. He was a confident loyalist with strict convictions until he became open to listening to our story, and now he's right by our side helping us. The man never even thought twice about it when he became a part of us. He never interrogated us to find out our past. He never tried to ask me about Venificus or the whole story behind the ring. He never asked you about what happened after your father died…Do you see what I'm saying?"

Cyril dropped the bottle on the floor and clasped his hands together.

"…He knew things had changed, and he decided that he had to as well. Need I say more?"

"God no Edmund," he smiled, "You'll never shut up." He looked up at Edmund with a smirk on his face and shook his head.

"Good, because I felt like I was becoming too deep and repetitive," he joked, "…Just don't let this get-"

"I know…I know…"

Edmund concluded, "I'm going outside now. Gonna go blow some wind in the sails." He got up and walked out the door.

"You've done that pretty well already!" Cyril shouted out. Edmund looked over his shoulder and smiled his big toothy grin.

Cyril took a deep breath and leaned back against the chair. He stared at the Major's body that was wrapped in the shiny silk cloth. Memories began to flood his mind of his father and of the times Major Rousseau would visit them and would play together. It was like having a second father sometimes. If they could only understand how much it hurt to have found Major Rousseau in such a condition and to know how it felt to be the one who had the premonition, always bashing yourself thinking that you could've done something if you hadn't been so naïve…it was driving him insane trying to balance his thinking. He grabbed his scarf and rubbed the burgundy cloth between his finders. It needed a wash.

Time passed on, but Cyril remained inside the cabin. Captain Rutherford was getting tense with worry.

"Is he going to be alright, " He asked Edmund, "His spirit seems stretched."

Edmund smiled reassuringly, "No need to bother yourself Captain. We have been through a lot in such a short time. Just imagine putting yourself in his shoes."

The two looked abroad and could see the shores of the Morana-Aisling islands not too far ahead. On the right was Morana, with its white sandy beaches that had a few black blemishes here and there, and a wall of palm trees and other sub tropical plants that blocked the view of the inland village. Follow the rocky isthmus that connected to the two islands to the left, and you find Aisling, a small and inhabitable island, due to the fact that it was much overgrown by the lush greenery that had flourished exponentially because of the highly fertile soil that was laid out by the volcano, whose dark brown rim was barely visible above the mountain of green. The only point of entrance to Aisling was from the isthmus that connected the islands, because the entire coastline was choked by husky mangroves that grew out into the shallow waters.

The Captain nodded, "…So what happens now? The Major is dead, and from the looks of it so far, Morana isn't in much better condition either."

"Well," Edmund began, "There has to be an explanation as to why Morana was destroyed. There's no reason why someone would want to randomly wipe out an entire settlement without there have being something to do it for. There's also the question of what the monster was that attacked Morana, and who created it and the fire storm."

"Do you have any ideas yet?"

Edmund shook his head, "None at all. The spells Cyril described were different than my own, there was another language or dialect mixed into the words that I have never heard before. I'm hoping if-"

The cabin door opened and both men turned to see Cyril walking towards them.

Edmund went on, "…That if we can reach Crescendore, I can spend some time at the National Archives and do some research. They've got some old texts that might contain information on Pondus, and my friend has his own private library that we can use as well. If my suspicions are correct…"

Cyril came up behind them and grabbed their shoulders, poking his head in to join the conversation. "And just what are those suspicions, Sir Edmund Suvanna?"he jested.

"It's a little hard to explain. I need time to think it over before I make any rash conclusions," he said, nervously looking down and scraping his foot against the wooden deck.

"And who's this friend?" Cyril taunted.

Edmund spoke in chopped phrases, "Well he…I, I, uh…he's…"

"Hey," the Captain broke in, "Morana is getting close. We need to drop anchor here before we get stuck on the sand bars."

"Are we supposed to swim the rest of the way?"Cyril wailed.

Edmund replied, "I've got it covered." He walked up to the bow and held his hands over the water. He started to chant:

Terra Exsiso…Existo Partum A Semita

A straight path of water from the bow of the ship to the shores began to bubble and churn white, slowly turning outwards from the center as clay and sand arose from the bubbling path.

Terra Exsiso…Existo Partum A Semita

The clay hardened just above the water level and the water returned to normal.

"And there is our walkway gentlemen, " Edmund smiled.

"Be careful with that tooth Edmund," Cyril cracked as he jumped over and landed on the newly formed stone path.

Edmund jokingly bowed, "After you Captain."

Captain Rutherford looked impressed when he saw the walkway Edmund created.

"That's a good ability you have there," he commented

The Captain hopped over with Edmund following right behind. It was eerily quiet, not a single sound other than the waves splashing and their footsteps tapping as they walked the length of the path until they reached the devastated shores. Trees were crippled over. Rooftops and walls of huts were littered all along the beach. A small fishing boat was broken with one half turned upside down laying on the edge of the shore and the other half just barely hanging off the branch of a tree. Patches of fire were still burning, with large plots of land scorched as black as coal. As they walked up the beach through the beaten path to the main village, they witnessed utter disarray that caught them completely unannounced.

The entire village had been turn to rubble. Not a single trace of a life or a structure still occupied the land. Everything was reduced to ash. Everything.

All around the land there were multiple sized craters as if a meteor shower had struck the island and big pot holes shaped like a giant fins were imprinted in the ground that lead straight back towards the other island of Aisling.

Cyril bent down and evaluated the track, "This must've been it," he said quietly.

Edmund and Captain Rutherford circled around the foot print and were mystified by the shape and size. It was like three giant pears had been joined at the base like a triangle and had three long stems that made up the pointed nail markings. You could the see the pattern of the webbed feet that resembled a spider web.

The three of them separated and started to investigate the island inch by inch.

"There's nothing," the Captain uttered as he kicked over piles of steaming ash, "Nothing at all."

Cyril passed by a top hat that was caught in a branch just above his head, but the guilt was over bearing and he left it to sway in the breeze with the rest of the burnt tree.

Edmund came across a sword that had been deformed by the intense heat and stopped to pick it up and analyze it. The blade was bent off center to the left and the metal itself had a boot imprint embedded onto it as if someone had stepped on it while running in terror from the disaster that took place. After scanning the island for any sign of civilization, they returned to the center of what was once the village, slowly moving and kicking up piles of ash that were still red and smoldering on the ground.

"This was no ordinary fire," he said to himself.

When they met each other they could tell neither of them had found anything by the silence and the looks on their faces as they stared at the ground. Cyril was the first to speak.

"Is this it…nothing but ashes…"

They all stood quiet as they observed the desolate land around them. The wind was blowing the ashes and smoke into air and it swirled like a miniature tornado until the breeze finally died down and the ashes settled back onto another pile of ashes.

"What will we do now?" the Captain asked, "There's nothing here for us."

"He's right Edmund," Cyril added, "Everything's gone. We might as well get out of here before Calduron catches up to us."

With his glaring yellow eye, Edmund followed the path that the monstrous feet had left all the way back to the long isthmus that connected Morana and Aisling. Strangely, Aisling didn't seem to have any signs of damage.

"Odd…" Edmund thought out loud, "The trail ends at the isthmus and it looks as though Aisling was left untouched." He started following the tracks towards the waters edge, the other two following behind.

"There is no settlement on the other side, its just a small, dormant volcano that has been overgrown with wildlife." Captain Rutherford informed.

Edmund answered back, "Yes, but do you see any birds or hear any wildlife emanating from Aisling?"

"We should leave. There's no reason to be here, we have to go," Cyril insisted, but they continued to walk trough the uncanny ghost town.

It's true, there was no sign of life even on the other island of Aisling, only the dark and dense green forest of plants that had culminated and flourished over the centuries. There was a small point of brown that peaked just over the greenery that used to be the volcanoes mouth, but other than that, the rest of Aisling was covered in lush forest that bordered the edge of the tidal waters.

They stopped at the beginning of the isthmus where the tracks ended. Other than the rummaged ground by the water and isthmus, there was nothing else pointing towards any answers. Edmund was caught in deep thought trying to put together what he knew so far while Cyril and Captain Rutherford continued to walk down the grudgy isthmus towards Aisling.

There was large boulder that rose above the water near the isthmus and a message was carved into it. :

DETH UHED

STAY FAR UWAY

Cyril looked at the Captain humorously. As they continued, they passed another sign.

It was a wooden plank hammered into a tree with enough nails to hold a home together. It stated:

RESTRIKTID EREUH

And further along as they cut an opening into the thick forest, they came across another sign signaling a final warning:

BEOND HEER LYS DOOM

TERN BAK NOW

The two laughed at the sight of the meager signs. The dense vegetation was claustrophobic. Their hands and legs would become entangled by the vines and roots that seemed to wrap themselves purposely around the men's body. Cyril and Captain Rutherford both had their swords out, trying to cut away at the thick greenery, but the more they chopped away, the more they moved into denser and darker forest.

"You know…Edmund…Was right," Cyril said in chopped words, struggling to get his body free of the entanglement, "It's strangely…Quiet."

Captain Rutherford was absorbed in cutting down the suffocating plants. Leaves and stems kept shoving themselves into his mouth like they were forcing him to eat a jungle salad. They chopped and sliced for minutes trying to clear a path until Cyril struck something hard like a stone. He brushed off the foliage and realized the stone itself was colored green, camouflaged in the thickset vegetation. He attempted to cut around it but he only struck the rock again. The boulder was much larger than he expected.

"Try going to the right and I'll go to the left," he told the Captain. They slashed away going in opposite directions. Cyril cut away slowly into the thick brush and swung again, but still he struck the boulder.

"I can't get through!" he shouted back to the Captain.

He waited, expecting a response back, but it never came.

He shouted again, "Captain! I cant get through here!"

No response.

He began to trek back to the spot they had separated from when he heard a sudden ruffle in the foliage somewhere around him. Cyril stopped and observed his surroundings intently, but nothing was visible beyond what he had cut. He held his position for a few moments, keeping his ears focused around him, but it was eerily quiet.

"Captain!" he called out, but there was still no response.

Cyril was just about to start moving again when he heard an unusual squeaking noise and a lot of commotion somewhere in the bushes near him.

He held his rapier in a striking position and called out nervously, "Is anyone there?"

A strange noise like an old woman screeching came from outside his periphery. The footsteps of whatever was near him could be heard crushing the dead plants below its feet as it slowly moved parallel to where he was standing, coming to a halt. Cyril held out his sword and warned whatever it was.

"I mean no harm, show yourself."

A faint, unintelligible, squeaky blabbering came from the unknown creature. Cyril could smell the light scent of lavender and eucalyptus and started to panic.

He moved back slowly, holding his rapier out to the bushes. He kept his eyes and ears trained on the spot where he heard the noise and unnoticingly tripped over a vine and fell on his back.

A transparent purple fog was seeping through the plants and engulfed Cyril as he tried to stand up, but his arms became very weak and loose and whenever he tried to push himself up his arms would simply buckle and give in. He tried to push himself forward with his legs, but eventually he lost the feeling in them and they stayed motionless no matter how hard he tried to force them to move. He rolled over on his stomach and began crawling on the ground like a worm, but soon enough the purple fog thickened around him. There was a tingling sensation that started from his sternum and slowly spread over his entire body. Vision doubled, and the world began to spin before Cyril's eyes. He caught a distorted glimpse of the dark figure when it waved its scraggly and wrinkled hands before he fell unconscious.

Edmund was analyzing the ground that had been malformed from the creature as it crawled on shore. He was bending over, taking mental notes of the scaly pattern of the skin that was left behind in the clay mud. He noticed small barnacles and mussels that were impressed into the deformations and followed the trail back to the village.

Edmund analyzed each footprint again extra carefully and realized that each track had these mussels and barnacles imbedded in them, even some seaweed pressed in here and there. He hadn't given it too much thought before, thinking that it was probably just natural since this was an island. But he thought twice about it now, and came to the conclusion that if it were left by the people, then it all would've been singed by the flames as the fire rained down upon the city. The problem with that, is that the mussels and seaweed were still moist and alive even all the way into the epicenter of the attack which was directly in the middle of the village. Could it mean that the monster came after the fire? Or did it actually come twice, before and after? According to Cyril's dream and the small phrases that Major Rousseau spoke, it seemed as if the creature had terrorized the village before and a little during the first moments of the fires, but neither of them were able to identify what happened after the attacks. If it did return, then there's a possibility that there might be a second entrance point somewhere on the island that he had to search for. If there was proof of a re-entry, that would mean that whoever summoned the creature might have used it again to look for something after the destruction. Is it possible?

Edmund's thoughts were interrupted when he heard Cyril calling out for the Captain. He checked around him and just now realized that they had moved on while he was studying the tracks.

"Those fools."

Edmund grabbed a few mussels and walked down to the isthmus. He heard Cyril call the Captain again.

'There must be something going on,' he thought to himself.

He quickly ran towards Aisling Island and its treacherous forest. He passed the boulder that warned of "DETH UHED" and became worried- 'Any sign that warns of death and is spelt horribly wrong always means true danger-' he recalled from a book he once read. He reached the entrance where he saw evidence of Cyril and the Captain by the slashed plants and path that lead through the dark forest.

"Cyril!" he called out, "Captain!" but the air remained still. He rushed into the constricting path, ducking and jumping over multitudes of thick umbrage, but stopped to think. It wouldn't be so smart to run into an area where his two comrades had just gone missing. Edmund looked back and forth to the entrance and beyond in the forest frantically, delving through his best options.

He hastily ran back out to light and stood before the lush evergreen forest, staring at the lush vegetation that separated him from the unknown inside. There was no other way around since the trees and foliage spread all the way out to the waters edge, but he had to find another way through, a safer way. The wind was blowing a good and steady pace. It might make his task a little easier, but we would have to sit and meditate for a little while to gather the spirit he would need to make such an attempt.

The sunlight gleamed stunningly through the large glass windows. It was hot, and it was irritating. He could see the man stationed on the balcony slumped on the floor and dead asleep. Lucky man, he thought. The General hadn't gotten any himself. He sat up and wiped the sweat that off his forehead. His mind was still entangled in the incidents that occurred the night before. Who could that man have been? Maybe it was just the liquor, who knows.

The General stood up and stretched. A wicked and nauseating odor emanated from his clothes. He had forgotten to change after coming from the hideous prison. His attire was covered in god knows what material from Arroya. He grimaced and tore of his clothes before wasting another second with the horrendous stench harassing his senses.

He bunched up all the garments into a single lump and threw it against the balcony door on which the soldier laid against on the other side. His attempt to scare the man awake failed, as the soldier just lay there motionless. The General smirked and opened his wardrobe. He wasn't packing too stylish of clothes in there. It mostly filled with fancy blue event uniforms that were made specially for the higher ranked officials in the military, although there were two other yellow and black uniforms that were shoved in the back. A few blue berets and a plain black leather belt with a golden buckle hung from the inner side of the closet doors. He grabbed the blue uniform and beret and dressed himself.

There were two loud knocks, and Lady Juliana's innocent voice followed, "Father…Ca-"

"Go away!" he cut her off, "Go back to Cenuaral and stay with your mother!"

Lady Juliana began to whine, "B-but Daddy!"

"Go!" he screamed, "I don't want you here!"

Her whining became wailing and her loud and obnoxious sobs were so loud that it was she was screaming in the General's ears. Slowly the power of her crying began to fade away as she ran down the corridor and down the steps until she started banging on the massive front doors for the guards to open them. He could still hear her wailing from outside on the lawn as she was screaming and cursing her father for being "so mean".

He shook his head and put the large blue coat. When he took a gander outside on the balcony, it came to his attention that the guard hadn't even moved an inch was still dead asleep, which frustrated him a little because of the man's laziness.

"Men! Attend at once!" he shouted at the top of his lungs. Three guards came running into the room. They stopped and saluted the General while simultaneously greeting him.

"Good Morning, Sir!"

The General ignored their salutations and looked each man over, gauging their competence. They were all about the same height, around six feet tall but were nothing special. Two men had normal steel greatswords while the other man in the middle carried a large mace. Each one had a large rusted shield with Calduron's colors, blue and white, painted on in the form of two crosses.

The guard outside was still slouched over as if still in a deep sleep, and now it was making the General furious.

"You!" he pointed at one man, "Go outside and wake that bastard up from his sleep, and when he takes his first yawn, you stab the damn sloth in his throat!"

The man looked terrifyingly at the other soldiers and back at the General.

" S-s-sir…you w-wan-"

"NOW!" he shouted. The guard flinched in fear and quickly ran over to the balcony. When he opened the glass doors, the man fell straight back, his dry wrinkled eyes dangling from the sockets.

"Oh god!" the guard stumbled back. His voice was shaky and he spoke hesitantly, "H-he's d-dead…"

The General's eyes widened when he heard what the guard said. The other men looked at him, waiting to receive orders as they were also scared and stunned.

"…S-Sir…it's horrible…"

The General walked over to the dead man and saw for himself just exactly how horrible of a condition he was left in. The man's eyes were hanging like dried grapes from a dead vine. The entire top layer of skin seemed to have rotted away, exposing the raw flesh that was now cooked from being under the Sun. There was dried blood all over the armor. No sign of his helmet, weapon, or shield were in sight. The General peered over the railing but there was nothing there. He looked back at the corpse and began to think of the previous night. He was awake the entire time but he never heard any noise come from outside his room other than Lady Juliana's constant yelling. Was that black figure he saw through the door real- and responsible for such a hideous exploit?

"What are your names?" he demanded from the soldiers.

The man on the left answered first, "Sir! Sergeant Acwellen Montgomery, Sir!" He spoke with a scratchy high voice. His long orange beard protruded from the openings in his dirty helmet.

Then the man next, "Lieutenant Errol Sewand, sir…" This man had a low calm voice. He regarded the General nonchalantly, who eyed him up and down.

"Lieutenant Sewand? Have we met before?"

He nodded.

"Why are you here?"

He shook his head.

"As a Lieutenant you are supposed to be maintaining the harbor," the General hissed.

"Yes General, but I am also in charge of reporting our naval activities to you as well, remember…" Lt. Errol sassed back.

The General eyeballed the man, "Watch how you speak to me Lieutenant."

"My apologies…Sir."

He walked up in front of Lt. Errol and looked down upon him, "Were you the one who told me the ships would be arriving this morning?"

"Yes. They arrived early in the morning to reload supplies and men and are now already on their way to Morana."

The General's face became red with rage, "And why wasn't I informed?"

His intimidating demeanor had no effect on Lt. Errol as he spoke swiftly, "It would have taken too long and you insisted on them to hurry…Sir"

The General grabbed the man's helmet with both hands and lifted it off the soldier's head, revealing a used up and worn out middle aged man which he recognized. He had deep dimple marks and a scruffy black beard that matched his mangy black hair. He had black sagging under eyes and his brown pupils showed only emptiness. The whites of his eyes were tainted yellow from years of liquor binging. The General leaned over and stared him eye to eye.

"Ahh…Lieutenant Errol Sewand…I remember you now. Is this what has become of Calduron's army?" he sneered, "…so Lieutenant…report, that is if you're still…loyal…"

Lt. Errol cleared his throat and spoke, "Four ships arrived just before daylight. Three departed with thirty men on each ship about twenty minutes after arrival. They should be reaching the Morana-Aisling islands within three or four hours. I had the fourth ship remain at port for you own use…Sir."

The General smirked, "Hmph. Smart soldier we've got here," he shoved the helmet back on the soldier's head and walked back to the dead soldier, nudging his stiff body.

"…From now on, you three will be my personal guards." The three men looked at each other, a bit hesitant to be named his personal gaurds.

The last unnamed soldier stuttered, 'U-uh…S-Sir, isn't…that-that w-what the Legion-n-naires are f-f-for?"

The General laughed at hearing the man's nervous and nasally talk. He grabbed his shoulder with his large robustuous hand. "And who are you?" he asked the man cynically.

"O-oh , I-I am Bernard C-C-Colby S-Sir!".

"Yes…?"

The soldier hit himself in the head for forgetting to mention his title.

"S-s-sorry S-Sir! I a-am Crr-Cr-Crorplelel…Ah s-sorry! C-C-C-"

"Corporal Bernard Colby, " The General boasted, "Still frightened from by the dead body are we?"

The soldier shook his head, "N-n-no S-Sir! I have a…a h-hard t-time s-s-sp-sp…speaking S-Sir!"

The General boomed with laughter, holding his head back in both hands while roaring in delight.

"Oh-oh…Corporal Bernard Colby! The perfect ironic satire to such an, unusual morning!" he walked to the rails and called out, "Guards! There's a dead body here that I need tossed out!"

Several men began marching from their posts form around the gated entrance into the mansion. The General turned back around and studied his new guards carefully.

"How many men have each of you killed?" he said low and darkly.

Corporal Bernard choked, "F-f-five S-Sir!"

Segeant Acwellan answered confidently, " Twenty-three Sir! I have a mark under my shield for each one Sir!" he brought out his shield and proudly showed everyone the lines he carved for each kill. "For the honor of Calduron!' he shouted and pounded his heart.

"Hmph, impressive Sergeant."

Lt. Errol showed no attention to the prideful man's bragging and kept his silence.

"And you Lieutenant?"

He gazed out over the city below, "More than any man ever should…Sir."

The General looked him over again with his menacing eyes.

"…Good," the General approved, "Lt. Errol, go and gather a sailing crew and ready the ship. You Corporal Colby-go to the blacksmith and tell him to make me my sword."

The Corporal saluted the General while Lt. Errol walked away to perform his orders.

"Tell the smith to ready the Creighton for me, Colby."

"Y-y-yes Sir!" the Corporal saluted again and ran off.

He turned to Sgt. Acwellan and announced his plans, "You, Sergeant Acwellan, will be my first man.."

A large grin formed on Sgt. Acwellan's face.

He went on, "You will be my sword and shield . You will do as I say under any circumstance. Do not mention anything to anyone without first discussing it me."

"Yes Sir!"

"…You are the Commanding Officer of this group, make sure you instill that upon your men."

"Yes General!"

"After the guards have taken the body away, I want you personally to kill them all. No one is to know of what happened here other than you three. Do you understand?

"Sir yes Sir!" Sergeant Acwellan confirmed with pride, "…Sir, may I comment?"

"No permission is needed to speak Sergeant."

"…You want them all dead Sir?" he asked. The General stared him directly in the eyes, "Yes, Sergeant Acwellan. Next time, you may speak, but do not question my orders. When I say I want them dead, that means I want them dead," he answered menacingly.

The Sergeant saluted and bowed his head, "My apologies Sir. But if I may…"

"Go on, Sergeant."

He continued,"…Sir, wouldn't it be better to have those guards alive rather than dead in any case?"

The General sneered, "Hmph, they already know too much. No one is to know anything."

"I understand Sir."

"Now go.. Lead them out to a proper area and tell them it's under my orders.. After you are finished, meet the Corporal at the smith's shop and help him with the sword. Come directly to the harbor afterward and meet me in the captains quarters alone."

"Yes Sir!" he saluted, "One last ques-"

"Don't get too comfortable Sergeant. Go now."

Sergeant Acwellan shouted at the five guards who were wrapping the body in a blue cloth to follow him. They quickly scrambled to cover the body and marched with their future fate in their arms down behind the mansion grounds. The General put his hands on the railing of the balcony and looked out into the hazy horizon. The city odor smelled like fresh vomit even way up at the mansion hill that was divided from the inhabitants below. He took several deep breaths as he heard some shouting and the clashes of swords behind him in the distance.

The General walked back inside and exited his room. He walked along down the lengthy hallways, pausing to gaze at few paintings of his forefathers who all had been high ranking officers in the military in Calduron's past.

As he appeared at the top of the staircases, two soldiers were awaiting his presence and greeted him with salutations and a loud 'Good morning Sir!' that was intensified by the massive hall. Down and out he went, setting off towards his ship that was waiting patiently for him down at the docks.

"Traitor!" the man howled before Sgt. Acwellan quickly ended his life with one swift slice.. He whispered to the wasted bodies that were spread all over the ground, "A traitor goes against his commander's orders, imbeciles."

He grabbed his shield from his back and started to walk back around the mansion, carving five more notches into the hardened steel. The guards that patrolled the walls watched as Sergeant Acwellan stormed by. Two men stopped him before he could get away without confrontation.

"What happened to you?" one man asked suspiciously as he inspected the Sergeant.

"I was performing my orders," he replied hastily.

"What was that noise coming from back there?"

"It's none of your concern and I suggest to let it be that way," he said as he tried to walk by, but the guard grabbed his shoulder and turned him around.

"What's this?" The guard pointed at a dark red smear on Sergeant Acwellan's armor, "Is this blood?"

He turned to the other guard, "Come look at this Hughes." He wiped his finger on the red smudge and tasted it.

"It's blood," he said nervously, looking at his comrade.

"Show me your sword soldier," the guard commanded.

Sergeant Acwellan brushed the mans hand off his shoulder and scolded the men, "I am Sergeant Acwellan Montgomery, your superior officer. You have no right to give me orders!"

"You can be whoever you want to be, Sergeant, and we will do what were supposed to do no matter the person. Now show us the sword."

Sergeant Acwellan stared into the eyes of the man intensely and slowly moved his hand towards the scabbard at his side.

"I am ordering you to stand down now men. Nothing is of your concern and I am under the orders of General Godric," he warned the men, "I have been given special honors by the General and I will not hesitate to enforce them if you insist on making this situation a hassle for me."

"Don't try to scare us with your threats Sergeant, show us the sword." The man reached over to his sword and grabbed the handle. Sergeant Acwellan kept his hand at his side while the guard pulled the sword from the scabbard, holding the mighty weapon to the sunlight as it beamed with the reflection of the rays, then brought it back down to eye level.

"Impressive sword Sergeant," the guard mentioned as he felt the blade up and down with his hand.

"Yes, if you weren't such a pest you would've gotten a promotion by now and have been rewarded with one like it as well," he said arrogantly, "Now keep your green hands and eyes off my weapon." He snatched the sword from the guard's hands and hurried along around the walls and down the hill.. The two men stood stupefied and suspicious of the encounter. They considered surveying the area where the Sergeant had came from.

"We should go check back there."

He sighed, "Forget it Hughes. It's not worth the trouble."

Sergeant Acwellan walked briskly with his sword in his hands down the path that lead back to the main city. The heat was smoldering hot and the Sergeant was sweating profusely, especially with the added armor that he had on. It was nearly noon and the streets and alleyways were packed with merchants and beggars.

A tall old man wearing shaggy rags with thick curly grey hair behind a beat up wooden stall tried to offer a melon to the Sergeant as he passed through one of the crowded streets. He stopped and came up to the merchant's store, grabbing a melon and juggling it between his hands.

"How much?" he asked, holding it out to the old man's face. The dainty merchant grabbed the melon with both of his fragile hands and accidentally dropped it onto the floor, breaking it into pieces. The frail old man looked up with his sagging grey eyes at Sergeant Acwellan and smiled a weak little grin. His teeth were revoltingly yellow from years of decay and his gums were a mix of black and bright pink. It was utterly nauseating just look at it.

He picked up another melon from the bunch and held it close to his eye and analyzed it carefully. The old man then held it out to the Sergeant.

"Err…he he…no mattuh, dat was no meln right fer a man o'yer kind," he said softly, his voice shaky and high, "dis one right her'll fill you and yer wife up fer days!"

Sergeant Acwellan stepped towards the stall and leaned over to the old man, "Who says I have a wife?"

The old merchant chuckled, "Heh, well a man like yerself should have a no trouble wit da females! Trust meh son! I know what I be talking bout! Well I once was Calduron's fine fine mil-"

"Listen old man, just tell me how much the melon is."

The man recoiled his arms back and frowned, "Well well well…if it ain't Mr. No Good Bastard Soldier Jerk here tryin ta take meh melons!"

Sergeant Acwellan shook his head in confusion, "What the hell are you talking about?"

The old man threw his melon on the ground, "Yeah I'm talkin aright! I know all yer tricks, you."

He got up from his stool and walked clumsily around the stall right up to Sergeant Acwellan, pointing his bony finger at his helmet, "What's yer name," he said slowly with suspicion, eyeing the Sergeant intensely with his light grey eyes that bulged out from the sockets.

"I have no obligation to tell you my name. I would suggest you get your hand out of my face though, old man," Sergeant Acwellan answered back. The old man shook his finger and turned around to the crowd that was frantically running around behind him, "Dis soldier her is tryin to rob meh!" he shouted out. Sergeant Acwellan nervously looked back and forth, "What the -"

"New!" the old man continued to shout, "Help! Help meh!" The flimsy old merchant fell on the ground flailing his arms and legs and grabbed some of the red meat that spilled out from the smashed melon, rubbing it all over his face and body, "New! New! Take dah melons, just spare meh soul! Please!" He started to roll around on the ground making strange moaning noises and rubbing more fruit on himself. A few people from the bustling crowd finally noticed the commotion only because they nearly stepped on the old man who was rolling between their legs.

"What in the world is going on with this man?" a woman grumbled after tripping over his body.

"Help! Ah! Help meh!"

The woman looked over at Sergeant Acwellan who was standing at the stall, stunned at the old man's ridiculous act..

"Another damn soldier trying to cheat an old man! How dare you!" she screamed and started throwing slaps at the Sergeant, who pushed her back, causing her trip over the old man and fall to ground.

"Ahh! New!" the old man blurted into the crowd. A few more people had stopped and were watching as the woman and old man lay on the floor flailing around and seeing the Sergeant who stood at the stall confidently and defiantly. The woman finally picked herself up from the floor and pointed at Sergeant Acwellan.

"You little tin cup! How dare you push a woman and stab an old man!" she screamed.

"What in God's name is wrong with you people?!" he roared, "That man isn't bleeding! The red is from the melon! It doesn't even look anything like blood you fools!"

A crowd of people now encircled the trio as they argued back in forth. Some of the people became hostile when they heard Sergeant Acwellan call the woman and dingy old man fools, thinking he was talking about them.

"Hey! We're no fools, fish head!" a man shouted. People began to rally around the old man and woman as they became fierce with idiotic pride.

-"Yeah you're the fool!"

-"Murderer!"

-"Thief!"

Sergeant Acwellan couldn't believe his eyes. Were these people sober? He didn't even want to buy the melon in the first place. This old man he had chosen to tease turned out be a complete madman.

"Are you people insane?!" he yelled, but no one was even listening. They had developed into one giant angry mob, screaming and shouting words incoherently. Some were hurling rocks and bottles at the Sergeant who was trying to block them all with his shield. One man ran and tackled Sergeant Acwellan but was knocked down by the powerful recoil. They severely underestimated who this soldier was. The man got back up and started kicking and pushing the Sergeant who stood his ground with ease.

The Sergeant finally lost his patience with the crowd as it had become much larger and wilder. He removed his sword and crushed the old man's stall with one blow, stunning the people. They stood silent and frightened as he turned around and pointed his weapon towards them.

Sergeant Acwellan shouted in frustration, "Enough! You're all pathetic excuses for human life! What the hell is wrong with you rotten peasants? You run around like mice and cockroaches gathering whatever you can for your greedy disgusting selves so you can survive this wretched thing you call your lives but at the end of the day you have nothing to return to and have no reason in hell to be alive! You're all a waste of space! Revolting leeches from a swamp that suck the blood from the true Calduronians!"

The old man stopped rolling around and moaning and got back on his feet unusually quickly, dusting himself off and smiling at Sergeant Acwellan, his hideous teeth protruding obnoxiously.

"And what devil is wrong with you, you mangy, vile mutt!," he screamed at the old man, "I ask for a price and you fall and act like I attacked you?! In retrospect I should have killed you! I should kill you all! You're all nothing to Calduron! The scum of Ananthea! Disgusting maggots!"

The crowd became hysterical and started shouting curses and throwing things at the Sergeant. Red was pulsating through his heart and soul and he wanted nothing more than to finish the plagued hordes of wild animals that taunted him. Sergeant Acwellan raised his sword, preparing for an all out massacre of the assembly. The old man walked forward with a jump in his step as he started laughing uncontrollably.

"What the hell are you laughing at?!" Sergeant Acwellan sneered before running at the old man with full fury. The enveloping crowd became frenzied and ran chaotically through the street trying desperately to escape from the scene before the Sergeant had his way with them. The old man stopped in his tracks and threw his arms into the sky.

Sero Deceptus

Gigantic, thick vines with voluminous dark brown thorns burst out of every inch of the ground, ensnaring the crazed people by the legs and strapping them down like an insane criminal in an asylum. The elephantine thorns dug deeply into their bodies as they struggled violently to break free, only increasing the depth of which the thorns penetrated into their fragile bodies. They howled and squealed in agony like pigs about to be slaughtered. Blood gushed out of the massive lacerations like an oil well.

As they opened their mouths, gurgling blood and gasping for their last breathes, surges of tentacles forced themselves in and down their throats. They tore through the insides of their bodies and ground their organs into chum, ripping through their carcasses like a volcano eruption.

Sergeant Acwellan came to an abrupt halt as he witnessed the gory carnage that took place before him. He slowly stepped back, trembling in fear of the old man who stood in front of him with his large obscene grin stretched across his sagging face.

The terrifying man laughed and screamed like a lunatic as he jumped and waltzed towards the Sergeant who while retreating, tripped over a large vine that was as thick as a tree trunk and fell on top of an acuminous thorn. Luckily for the Sergeant, his armor saved him from being stabbed through chest. Fear was overwhelming and petrified his body as he lay watching in terror while the old man danced over to him.

He laughed and taunted the Sergeant, "Ah what's this? What happened to the rage and hatred I chose you for?"

The old man spun and came to an abrupt stop. His speech and voice changed from the weak whisper of an old uneducated farmer to a sassy chortle of a cheeky academic's, "Good morning Sergeant Acwellan Montgomery!" he laughed, his eyes alive with excitement, "what a day this has turned out to be, no?!"

Sergeant Acwellan was breathing fast and shaking as he tried to crawl away from the man.

"Now, now Sergeant Acwellan! We've only just met! We have yet to introduce ourselves!" he sang. The man moved near-gracefully, somewhere in between a drunkard and an acrobat. He hopped up unto the stocky vine and placed his foot on the Sergeants neck.

"Well, aren't you going to introduce yourself Sergeant?"

Sergeant Acwellan tried to push the foot off of him but the man only increased the pressure on his throat. He coughed and choked trying to speak but the weight was crushing his neck.

"Oh my! You can't speak!" He lifted his foot off the Sergeant's neck then grabbed it and lifted him up in the air with his scraggly hands. His dirty brown nails grew out until they were just barely piercing Sergeant Acwellan's skin.

"Wh-who the hell a-are you," he tried to speak, "h-how do you…know my n-name? What do you

m-mean…you chose me?"

"Nah ah ah!" the man grinned, "Didn't your mother ever teach you to never talk to strangers?"

Sergeant Acwellan winced in pain as the man tightened his grip around the Sergeant's neck, his nails digging deeper into the skin.

"Y-you know…my name.."

The man snorted and dropped Sergeant Acwellan on the ground, hitting his head against the vine.

His tone became dark and angry and he shot back at the Sergeant, "That's not the point Sergeant Acwellan! Since we will be getting acquainted with each other for the time being it would be improper for us to-"

"What the hell do you mean getting acquainted!" Sergeant Acwellan jumped to his feet and grabbed his sword, "Who are you and what do you want from me!" he shouted, his sword trembling in his hands as he held it out to the old man.

"Hah hah hah! Why, I only want to know how much that melon of yours is going for," he replied cynically. Sergeant Acwellan lunged at the old man who stayed his ground and slashed straight through his body. The blade went through the man's torso like he had cut right through gas. He stood stunned as the old man burst with wild laughter. He swung his sword again, this time slicing through the man right between the eyes. The old man slowly dissipated like smoke into thin air as the blade sliced him in half.

Sergeant Acwellan's eyes were wide with terror as frantically circled around and around with his sword in the air trying to locate the man. A voice warbled through the still atmosphere.

Somes Imperium…

Mens Certamen Per Meus Animus

His body froze and the sword fell from Sergeant Acwellan's hand. He was completely paralyzed in his fixed position. There was a sharp pain in the back of his head like someone was repeatedly poking a needle through his skull and into his brain. The pain was immense but Sergeant Acwellan couldn't move or even make a sound. Then a soft foreign voice whispered through his head.

"My name is Garrick Doran. From now on you will be my little pet. Do as I say and I'll give you a nice tasty treat - or suffer the most agonizing death no man could even imagine. Whaddya say we don't let that happen hm?"

Sergeant Acwellan could not do anything but listen as the disgustingly cheery voice continued to linger in his head.

"Your General, Godric Windsor, is a fool-hearted man you know.. I've known him for a long time now and can tell you his own greed will inevitably lead to his grueling death, if not by me then one of his men. I am to be his keeper, but I prefer to spend my time doing much more productive things rather than follow a lousy halfwit like him. Now that he has made you his oh so "honorable" associate, I will be using you to do the work for me. Every word you hear or speak, every sight, every thought…I will know it all…so don't dare try to share this information with anyone or anything, please? One slip of the tongue, and you'll be burning for eternity in fires that hell itself could not conjure. I have already read your mind when we first made eye contact at the stall. I know who you are and what you've done. I can see the passionate desire for power that flows through your veins. You're not so much different from the fool you serve, but I tell you this, that General may stand tall, but he will fall just as hard. You, just like him, have the same killer instinct, vicious hatred for the weak, and overwhelming pride. Yes…I know what you're all about. I saw how you wanted to rip the hearts out of all the denizens that stood before you, and it was beautiful I tell you. I love it! It's been a while since I've met someone so, what would you call it…evil? Hmph, from that point on I knew you would be an even better acquisition than I had previously planned. You're wondering what I want? Well nothing anymore, Sergeant Acwellan. It turns out your melon was up for the taking and I was lucky to be the first to grab it. The question is, what do you want? And we both know what you want, don't we? But you will never have or be anything more than what you are now unless you follow my orders. Cooperation with me will lead to anything and everything you could possibly imagine. Defiance…well, I have no need to repeat myself. I will try to leave it as simple as I can for you, so that is all for now. All you have to do is what he tells you to, unless I say otherwise. I hope it's not too hard for you. We will speak again shortly Sergeant Acwellan Montgomery…"

The tension around Sergeant Acwellan's body ceased and his arms and legs were under his control again. The piercing affliction at the back of his head gradually lessened. His hands were shaking uncontrollably as he took off his helmet and felt his face which was burning hot and red and pouring with sweat. What used to be his wide blue eyes were now wide grey eyes. The remnant effect of the spell was proof that Garrick was keeping an eye on him, if not in and through him.

The stocky vines started to retreat back into the holes from which they came, dragging the dozens of slaughtered citizens that were strung through the vines like a bracelet with them. All that remained was the shattered stall and puddles of blood that collected into pools all over the ground while also dripping down the walls of the buildings.

Sergeant Acwellan picked up his sword and placed it nervously back into the scabbard as he gazed straight ahead down the road in a stupor. He was breathing heavily still and tried to comprehend what had just happened. Who in the world was this man, and what abomination did he just pull off? How did he know his name…? But he was too afraid to even think about anything knowing that Garrick was reading his thoughts. He shuffled his feet and nervously walked down the road, looking back and forth to see if anyone was watching or had seen what had happened. Strangely it very, very quiet, a first for Sergeant Acwellan who had never experienced true silence since the time he first arrived in Luxus. Everywhere he looked he saw only giant holes and blood splattered all over the place. Not a single person crossed his line of sight.

"Hello!" he began shouting in desperation, trying to find any person who may still be alive, "Hello!"

But he didn't hear a single peep.

He began sprinting across the city towards the blacksmith's shop and finally detected faint racket from the other side of town. He finally reached a road that crossed with Lamington Alley and followed it down until he caught site of the pub and the familiar plaster-faced men scrambling outside the doors. It was only half past noon and there was already a wasted crowd at Jalebee.

Sergeant Acwellan wanted desperately to run inside and rummage through all the liquor that Jalebee had in store but he knew he had two very important obligations to fulfill, and both would cost his life if he didn't act accordingly, so he tried the best he could to act casual and walk down the alley to the blacksmith's shop but his mind was still overtaken by the whole event and walked awkwardly through the roads. A few drunk men laughed and called Sergeant Acwellan some vulgar names as he anxiously stammered through the alley. A beggar called out to him, frightening him as he was still paranoid and kicked the man square in the jaw out in defense. The frayed old beggar shouted in anguish, drawing the attention of a group thugs who were gambling behind a pile of trash. They got up from their game and scurried over to Sergeant Acwellan.

The leader of the posse pushed the Sergeant back, "A man, ya thinks ya can just kick a man an git away from it witout nobody noticing eh?"

Sergeant Acwellan turn red and warned the men, "Do not interfere wi-"

"Eh man we ain't intaferin with nuttin alright? Ya bastuds thinks ya'll can just step all ovuh us common folk huh? Not dis time my friend," he shook his head and laughed while his ducklings squawked and boasted.

"Yeah!"

"No way man!

"You gonna pay man!"

The arrogant marauders gathered around him and pulled out chains and knives from their coats and belts. Sergeant Acwellan's grey eyes turned red with fury and in a flash, he ripped out his sword and spun, slashing through the men in one strike. Their faces ghostly white, they stood holding their stomachs as blood exuded from their hands. Sergeant Acwellan gawked at the ring leader, pushing him aside as he quickly hurried along the alley.. The men fell one by one on their knees and collapsed on the dirt path.

Further up the road, thick black smoke arose from the chimney of a small stone building. The meager sign hanging from a post above the doorway read, 'Atchinson Smithing'. As he came to the entrance of the building he noticed the thick iron bars that encased the windows and the rugged but beautifully tempered bronze door knob in the shape of the sun that had been Calduron's previous symbol before the civil war.

The Sergeant fumbled to return his blood covered sword back into the casing before stepping inside the smith's shop. When he opened the door, a viscid dense cloud of black smoke escaped out the room, engulfing the Sergeant. He stumbled back and coughed, trying to blow the smoke away. Once the smoke finally cleared he walked inside and saw Corporal Colby leaning against his sword in the corner. It was small room that had very little besides what was necessary for a blacksmith. A large furnace took up most of the space, a few stools, a table on the side for business, and piles of surplus steel in the back. The blacksmith was a short fat man who had a large bulbous red nose, with a hairless head, thick white brows and a broad chin with haggard stubble. There were all sort of tools strapped to his utility belt The smith was working with great attention and care on the sword. Sergeant Acwellan curiously watched as the smith sharpened the edge of the blade with what looked like a sliver of glass.

"S-S-Sergeant!" Corporal Colby called out, "H-He's alm-m-most do-done." Colby could see that the Sergeant looked a bit tense and noticed the blood on his boots and armor, "H-h-hey S-Sergeant a-a-are you ok-kay?"

"Mind your own business Corporal," he shot back and sneered.

Sergeant Acwellan stepped up towards the smith and felt the smooth dark blade as the smith polished the remaining blemishes off the side. Corporal Colby walked next to Sergeant Acwellan and felt the blade as well.

"Am-m-mm-azing isn't i-it Serg-geant?" he said in awe.

"This is the General's sword?" he asked amazed.

The blacksmith got up from his stool and poured some water all over the blade to clean off the residue. "This here's a fine weapon, the Creighton. One of my best. Stands six feet tall from pommel to tip, weighs nearly 80 kilos-"

"80 kilos?!" Sergeant Acwellan repeated, "that's impossible to wield!"

The smith shook his head, "Nah nah, not for Godric. This sword is a family legacy, made only for the Windsors. His great-great-great-great grandfather Raynord Windsor requested me to craft this sword way back when Calduron and Crescendore were still warring nations nearly 400 years ago, in this same old building!"

"You mean before the Treaty of Accordance?"

"Yes," he explained, "Raynord Windsor was one of the leading commanders who helped bring peace between the two countries, a legend of his time. A powerful, strong leader he was, and he and every man in that glorious family ever since have been generals, colonels, admirals…you name it. Always at the top of the food chain. The Windsors bloodline is that of the fiercest warriors throughout all of history, and them and them only have the power to use the Creighton to its full extent.

Corporal Colby tried to chime in, "Y-y-yeah, th-this sw-sword u-u-u-used t-t-to-"

Sergeant Acwellan got annoyed of Corporal Colby's choked words, "Shut up Corporal, you're a terrible human, don't even try..." Colby looked away ashamed of himself as Sergeant Acwellan asked, "Could you tell me more about the sword sir?"

"Sure. Well like I said, it's only made for the Windsors. It's a gift for bringing stability to the nation, so I always keep a reserve of rough material for cases like this."

"Wait, you said you made this sword for Raynord? Wasn't that 400 years ago?"

"Oh hah!" the smith roared, "No no no…I meant my past forefather of course! Hah hah hah! Years of working with all this smoke and chemicals gets to a man's head y'know!"

Sergeant Acwellan smirked and became suspicious. "And in this same building? How is that possible? Luxus wasn't annexed until King Elrick took the throne, and that was only twenty two years ago…"

He broke in, "Ah yes you are right! But Luxus has always been an island! It's not like it just suddenly appeared when Elrick became King of Calduron. You both were still young lads, so you wouldn't know, but back before Luxus was acquired by Calduron it used to be a free port much like the Morana-Aisling islands off the coast of Crescendore. This shop has been here long before the big boom of people started to settle. It was a beautiful place back then, nothing like it is now…"

Sergeant Acwellan was bored of the man's story and was more interested in the sword.

"What is it made out of?"

The smith got excited, "Ah! I'm glad you asked!" he pointed at several parts of the sword, "Well first, you see the handle here? That's simple steel covered in a special leather compound I made that molds and sticks to the wielders hand perfectly for extra grip and handling ability. And you see how dark and slick the blade is? That's really just a special casing I made out of years of tampering iron. Impenetrable! And I can guarantee that!"

Corporal Colby tried to speak, "W-w-what d-do yo-you m-m-"

Sergeant Acwellan cut him off, "What do you mean casing?"

The smith spoke with strong pride, "Well on the inside is the densest and one of the rarest materials found anywhere in the world called osmium. In it's raw form, it's a very, very dark blue metallic ore that seems almost like liquid at first glance. Only a few blacksmiths know where to mine it and how to refine it. It's well kept secret, so I can't tell you much about it. But so on, after I refine it and shape it, that osmium blade alone is about four fifths of the entire weight of the Creighton sword. That's where the true power is. That thing could smash through anything, and the casing on the outside gives it extra durability so no part of it gets chipped away. And this part's really special…if you see at the edge of the blade all the way down…" The men moved closer and observed the blades edge, "…Its got a certain sparkle to it, no? That gentlemen, is the purest carbon you'll ever see in your life. In other words, its diamond."

The men's jaws dropped in awe. "Diamond? Why use diamonds on a sword?"

The blacksmith laughed, "Plain and simple: diamond can cut through anything! Even the osmium inside it! The Creighton is the second greatest sword I ever created, I-I mean my forefathers of course. But I still make it and it's spectacular!"

Sergeant Acwellan spoke with awe, "What other sword could possibly be better than this? This is amazing!"

"Eh heh…well I guess my first sword? The nostalgic factor of it I suppose…kind of like your first kill, right men?

The two men looked at each other and nodded their heads with pride.

"Well sirs, I don't want to keep you all waiting, I know Godric's waiting for the sword. Why don't you take a seat and let me finish up polishing this thing and then I'll get my coach so we can get it to the docks."

"A-a-lr-right." The two of them took a seat next to the table and reveled as the smith finished touching up the sword.

"I have to go round back to fetch my wagon, so if you can do me a favor and get this sword out to the front we can go on our way." The blacksmith got up and went out the store as they got up from their seats and each grabbed one end of the blade. Corporal Colby struggled to lift the handle off the table and nearly dropped it onto the floor.

"Get out of here Corporal," Sergeant Acwellan ordered.

"S-Serg-geant?"

"I said get out now. You're not helping at all. You're pathetic."

Corporal Colby tried to defend himself and assure the Sergeant he was capable, "I-I-I c-can h-h-"

"Get out!" he shouted, "Go!"

The Corporal dragged his feet as he walked out the door with his head down. Sergeant Acwellan grabbed the handle of the blade and slowly endeavored to get the sword over on his shoulder, and when it finally plopped on his shoulder he staggered and almost fell back, but he regained his poise and kicked open the door.

A small wagon with only a shabby wooden platform, two wheels, and two handle bars were parked outside waiting to be used.

"This is the wagon?" he wailed to the blacksmith who sat on top.

"This is the wagon!"

"This is no wagon, it's a wheelbarrow!" he cried, "I'm not pulling this sword all the way to…" He then looked over to Corporal Colby who was standing on the side quietly, "Corporal!"

He looked up at the Sergeant and rolled his eyes in despair, "I-I-uh-w-y-y-n…ugh." He sighed knowing he had no chance and went over to the wheelbarrow and grabbed the handles. Sergeant Acwellan dropped the massiv sword onto the wheelbarrow, landing with a loud thud.

"Hey! Be careful with that!" the smith yelled and ran to the swords aid, inspecting it and wiping off the dust, "Come on! I just made this! It's like my baby! Oh baby, oh baby, it's alright you're okay…" he whispered wiping the blade with a cloth.

"Thank you…Atchinson is it?"

He nodded is head, "Tell Godric I said to refrain from using it!"

Sergeant Acwellan was confused, "Why wouldn't you want him to use the Creighton after you just worked so hard to make it."

"So less he uses this, the less people die," Atchinson replied waving the sword goodbye. A small sparkle glimmered in his eyes as the two men walked down the dirt path.

"Godric Windsor requesting the sword of his fathers…" he said to himself, "…not a good sign…"

"S-S-Serg-g-geant, w-what's with th-the the bl-blood?" Corporal Colby spat out. People all around them were attracted to the marvelous black weapon like flies to light. Heads poked out of windows and fingers were pointed towards the two men as the Sergeant led Corporal Colby who was pulling the weapon along the beaten path. Sergeant Acwellan refused to answer Corporal Colby as he believed the man was only a hindrance to him, but the Corporal as innocent and naïve as any man could be, continued to annoy Sergeant Acwellan with his stuttering speech.

"I-I hope i-it-it's not y-your bl-ood."

The Sergeant clasped his hands together on his face and shook his head.

"Do you recall when I told you to shut up Corporal?" he hinted, but the man was sincerely oblivious to Sergeant Acwellan's condescending tone.

"Y-y-y-"

"Yes. Yes. Shut. Up. Stop wasting my time and move along! I can't stand these ravenous fools eying us with their contempt."

Corporal Colby shuffled his feet and pulled as hard as he could on the wheelbarrow behind him. The weight of the sword placed much strain on his arms, especially while climbing up the last hill before reaching the docks where Sergeant Acwellan had to run behind and help push the cart before the Corporal's feeble grip had let loose the precious weapon.

They had to take it very slow as they rolled the sword down the other side of the hill which was very steep. A platoon of soldiers were marching up the hill and saw the two men struggling with the sword. The leader ordered his soldiers to help the men as they contested with the punishing task. Three men ran to their sides and took hold of the wheelbarrow.

"We've got it."

The pair released their constraint, shaking their hands and rolling their arms and shoulders to get the blood back, allowing the other soldiers to take control. The men gazed at the incredible sword and looked at each in awe. One soldier tried to touch it, but Sergeant Acwellan shouted at the man before he could place his inadequate finger on the blade.

"Hey!" he barked. The soldier shuddered and instantly pulled his arm away. The big man opposite to him smacked him on the back of the head, scolding the man, "Are you a damn fool? Don't think you can just go and touch anything you want! We're not at Jalebee!"

"Ah okay okay sorry! No one said not to-"

"Shut up! Bring this cart down!" the man screamed. Sergeant Acwellan eyed the man with content, admiring the way he handled the imprudent soldier.

"Hey you, what's your name?" he asked the man.

"Oscar Lorant," he replied emphatically.

Sergeant Acwellan raised and eyebrow, "…Oscar Lorant?" The name sounded very familiar to him. "Remove your helmet."

Oscar let go of the cart, causing the other soldiers to buckle under the weight, but they held on tight and winced as the cumbersome package crushed against their pelvis'. He turned slowly towards Sergeant Acwellan and walked up to him. He was tall and heavy set, blocking the sun as he towered over the Sergeant. He rancorously lifted the helmet off his head. Long brown shaggy hair covered his face, which he brushed to the side, his large green eyes trained on the Sergeant's. He had a large, squarish head and a thick goatee, and at second glance at his mouth, the Sergeant saw that the left side of his lips had been cut or ripped off which revealed a few teeth and a large scar extended from the serration all the way through his left eye and through the brow. He glared at Sergeant Acwellan with a grave look in his eyes.

Corporal Colby was appalled by Oscar's scar and grimaced when he caught sight of it. This made Oscar furious and he grabbed the Corporal's collar who then grabbed his sword, but Oscar grabbed his hand and cramped down tightly on it. He pulled him up to his face and snarled, throwing him onto the ground. His commanding officer shouted and stormed towards them.

"Private Lorant!" he yelled, grabbing Oscar's shoulder and turning him to face him, "What do you think you're doing!"

The officer was much smaller than Oscar, but that didn't stop him from forceful, although Oscar's silent piercing stare unnerved the man a bit.

"One more burst like that and I will have you sent to Arroya, do you understand?"

Oscar made no sign of acknowledgement and instead frowned angrily and grit his teeth.

"I said do you understand me Private Lorant!" he screamed in his face, but there was still no concession from the man.

"Wait," Sergeant Acwellan jumped in, pulling the two apart, "He has done nothing wrong. That man over there is a moron, I have no care for him"

He looked over at Corporal Colby who was gleaming at him with a saddened and shocked look on his face.

"Allow me to take this man under my wing," the Sergeant proposed, "you have this fool instead.

The man gathered himself, standing straight and composed and inspected the Sergeant who spoke so confidently.

"And just who are you to be making such demands?" he jested.

"Acwellan Montgomery, and you?

"You will address me as Major Vilmos. What is your rank soldier?"

Sergeant Acwellan hesitated to reply, thinking that in light of what the General told him that morning that he was actually no longer Sergeant but the General's gaurd, so he took advantage of his newly named title.

"I am the personal advisor to General Godric and I am delivering this weapon to him," he said with self-glorification, "I advise you watch your tone with me, Major."

Corporal Colby looked stunned when he heard Sergeant Acwellan name himself so. He tried to speak but the Sergeant scolded him before he could finish his first word.

The Major lowered his head and saluted Sergeant Acwellan, "Sir, I apologize! I did not know. Please, if Private Lorant is who you wish to acquire I will accept your offer in honor of the General!"

Sergeant Acwellan looked back at Corporal Colby with gratification and smiled, "Good, thank you Major. The General will be pleased. Now I must hurry, the General has been waiting at his ship for quite some time now."

"Yes sir! My men and I will escort you and the package to the gates!"

He signaled his men to regroup in their ranks behind Sergeant Acwellan. Corporal Colby stood by, still shocked after hearing the Sergeant lie.

"S-S-Ser-"

"You there! Corporal!" the major shouted, "Get in line!"

The Corporal looked up at Sergeant Acwellan, bewildered and confused.

He choked, "Wh-wh-what I-"

"Go!" The Sergeant pointed to the group of soldiers that were positioned in line behind the wheelbarrow. He walked slowly to the group of men and took his place at the back.

Major VIlmos shouted to his men, "Onwards!"

They marched in unison down the road. Sergeant Acwellan stood back, grinning at his new found control over the soldiers. Oscar slowly turned to walk down with the rest of the men.

"Wait there soldier," Sergeant Acwellan called out. Oscar slowly turned back around as Sergeant Acwellan came up to him.

"You stick with me. My name is Acwellan Montgomery and I am your commanding officer now."

Oscar grunted in distaste and sneered when he pounded his chest to salute Sergeant Acwellan.

"Good. You and I will report to General Godric immediately."

Suddenly the Sergeant felt a sharp pain in the back of his head like the one before and his heart pounded fiercely as his body was overtaken by that paralyzing aura.

"Hmm…An astonishing procurement, 'Personal Advisor to the General'! You're making much more progress than I expected!"

The voice sang through his head,

"Hah hah hah! Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!…This man will be much better for us rather than that pathetic little worm that followed you earlier. Can you see it Sergeant? You see his eyes? Beautiful, no? A true blue killer! Just perfect! There's so much hate boiling in this man's heart it could singe the entire world if properly managed…But I would be careful if I were you Sergeant. A silent brute like this with death radiating from every orifice of his body could cause some trouble for us in the future. But Don't fret my little pet! Just make sure he's never behind you…"

The haunting presence deceased and Sergeant Acwellan toppled over on his hands and knees after the dominating aura left him. His head was burning hot and sweat was pouring onto the dirt path. He was taking deep breathes as he looked up and noticed Oscar staring perilously down at him. He stammered violently as he tried to stand up and walk down the hill, then remembered what the voice had said about Oscar being behind him. He called Oscar and turned, only to jump back in surprise as the enigmatic man was standing right behind him glaring directly into his eyes, compelling Sergeant Acwellan to draw his sword.

Oscar watched as the Sergeant danced around nervously. He placed his helmet back on his head and stepped forward towards the Sergeant who aimed the sword at his throat.

"Stand back!" he screamed in angst.

Oscar stopped and stood perfectly still like a stone pillar.

"What are you doing?!"

His voice was low and he spoke monotonously, "Following you Sir."

Sergeant Acwellan sighed with relief as he lowered his sword, still breathing hard.

"Fine then. Come."

He waited anxiously for Oscar to pass him by before continuing along down the road to the harbor, his hand steady on his sword just to be sure. As they slowly walked down the dirt path, Sergeant Acwellan could feel the pin prick in the back of his brain as it began to pulsate like someone repeatedly sticking a needle in his brain, increasing in speed. He shut his eyes tightly trying to ward off the excruciating sensation and then heard a sudden thunderous explosion that rocked him and caused him to tumble forward. Oscar grabbed his shoulder and held him up, keeping him from falling flat on his face, and soon enough the feeling disappeared.

They showed up at the harbor gates only to find the harbor guards and Major Vilmos and his men scattered all over the place, their armors cracked, heads battered and bloody, and moaning and groaning. Sergeant Acwellan rushed over to Major Vilmos who had blood all over his face and was leaning weakly with his shoulder against the gate, pressing his hand hard against his stomach. He fell to his knees and gurgled blood as he tried to speak. Sergeant Acwellan panicked as he looked all around but couldn't find the Creighton.

"What the hell happened here Major?!" his voice was shaky, "Where's the sword?"

Major Vilmos glanced over to the docks with his blood red eyes and grunted. There was a loud clang and a deep yell as the Sergeant quickly turned around to see Oscar fly back and slam right into the stone walls. He collapsed onto his stomach and tried to push himself back up while the wall crumbled into pieces and cascaded on top of him like miniature rockslide, but he hadn't the strength to do so and toppled onto the floor. The Sergeant saw as a monolithic man strode over towards where he and the Major were confiding. It was the General and he was holding his enormous sword high into the sky.

"Sergeant Acwellan!" he roared, "Why did these men have my weapon?!"

The General swiftly swung the weapon down, stopping just inches away from Sergeant Acwellan's head who flinched and bowled over the now dead Major. He was stuttering and could not think of the words to say as he was caught off guard trembling in fear.

"Don't have me repeat myself !" the General shouted. Sergeant Acwellan struggled to produce a response.

"S-sir…"

"Stand up soldier!"

Sergeant Acwellan grabbed onto the gates and faltered trying to pull himself up. He stood fearfully with his back right up against the gates.

"Is this how you act when you're face to face with death Sergeant?" the General screamed, "Hmm? Where's your honor! Where's the pride?"

"G-Gen-"

"Was I supposed to trust my life to this? You're no better than that coward Corporal!"

"Sir!" he tried to plead, "It was only the sword! Y-you never said anything about the sword! How was I supposed to keep this hidden? It's as big and heavy as me!"

"That is not the issue here Sergeant! I ordered you to help the Corporal bring the sword to me at the harbor, and what is this…A troop of men! I specifically told you to follow my orders without any question! That means no improvisations! You do what you are told! And where exactly is that bastard Colby?"

Sergeant Acwellan gulped and breathed heavily, "Sir, you killed him."

"What are you talking about!" he screamed.

"Sir, Corporal Colby was a damned moron! There was no benefit of having him with us! He's a foul scourge and would've been detrimental to yours and mine security. You told me I had absolute power over my men and I didn't want to have a weak link in the chain so I when I came across this troop of men I met a soldier that was much better qualified for this task and I exchanged him-"

"Exchanged him?" the General replied mockingly, "Exchanged him? Like clothes in a wardrobe!"

"Sir…yes!"

"And where is the man?"

The pile of rubble behind the General shifted abruptly and rolled off of Oscar's body as he stood up and swayed side to side. The General looked over his shoulder and laughed.

"Don't tell me this is the man," he smiled maliciously. He turned and held his sword at Oscar as he wobbled aimlessly towards them.

"So Sergeant! Is he the man, or not?"

Oscar grabbed a spear that had been forfeited by a deceased guard and thrust it at the General who moved easily out of the way.

"Hah hah! Seems your man is confused Sergeant!" the General laughed as he parried the spear.

Sergeant Acwellan stood up and screamed for Oscar to stop, but he continued to attack unwaveringly and with all his ability. The General ducked, dodged, and spun out of the way of the lightning fast spear attacks that were relentlessly being propelled by Oscar. He insisted humorously for the Sergeant to order Oscar to stand down but even so, he would not stop pursuing the General.

Oscar ran and jumped, swinging the spear down with all his power as it smashed through the ground, sending rocks and gravel into the air. Before the debris could land on the ground he quickly lifted the spear and swung at the General to the right who cut the spear in half and counter attacked with the Creighton by slashing through Oscars armor like a hot knife through butter. Oscar looked down at the slice that nearly caught him on his torso and in that instant before he could return his gaze at his foe, the General with a twist of his wrist smacked the Creighton's flat end straight on Oscar's helmet, shattering it like glass and sending him barreling on the floor.

The General moved slowly towards Oscar who was on the ground groaning and holding his head in his hands. He grabbed Oscar and grunted while pulling him up to his feet, holding him close as he removed the fragmented helmet.

His head dangled listlessly towards the floor as he winced from the pain in his skull. Blood was seeping down the right side of his head, soaking his grungy hair in such a way that it hid the right side of his face and highlighted the scarred left side, which the General recognized right away. They were locked in a death stare, and when Sergeant Acwellan hurried to their sides he realized that the two men were nearly the same height and had almost the same physical build. The General upon seeing the scarred face laughed manically and threw Oscar to the side.

"What a surprise…" he growled, placing his sword on his back strap, "…Oscar, Oscar Lorant…"

Sergeant Acwellan tried to cut in, "Sir please do not k-"

"Do you know who this is, Sergeant?" he asked turning to Oscar and pointing towards the Oscar.

"Private Oscar Lorant, Sir. Major Vilmos-"

The General bellowed ravenously and ran and kicked Oscar on his side. He grunted in misery, toppling over and grabbing his groin. The General smirked and spat on him.

"Private Oscar Lorant is a traitor, and a liar!" he pronounced to the world, emphasizing on the words 'Traitor' and 'Liar'.

"Maligner!" Oscar muttered, coughing violently, "The real traitor stands be-" but before he could finish his sentence the General grabbed his hair and smashed his head onto the gravel several times. Oscar murmured words that were incomprehensible due to the fact that when he spoke, blood would bubble out of his mouth. The General stepped on the man's back like he had just defeated a perilous foe.

"This man who calls himself Oscar has been a spy in hiding, a conspirator, a rebel!" he screamed acerbically.

Sergeant Acwellan was confused and is voice was shaky, "Wh-what do you mean Sir?

"Oscar Lorant! Why don't share with the Sergeant your true name?" the General insisted, "Go on! Speak you boorish mongrel!"

When Oscar couldn't muster up the energy to talk, the General stomped on his back and kicked him over.

"I said speak you deviant rat!" he shouted, kicking him again and again. Oscar was beaten so terribly he couldn't even move an eyelid, let alone talk. Blood was pouring out of his mouth like a waterfall and his fingers twitched uncontrollably with the little life he had left in his body. Sergeant Acwellan was stunned silent and only listened as the General explained Oscar Lorant.

"This mutt's true name is Helren Windsor," he said gritting his teeth.

"Helren…" Sergeant Acwellan whispered to himself, "You mean Helren…your brother? The one who-"

"Yes Sergeant! Helren…the one who escaped…There has been word that he returned to the ranks in order to find and assassinate me, but look at him! The dumb ox is laying here half dead and there's not a drop of sweat emanating from me!" he leaned over and shouted into Oscar's ear, "You thought you could come back after four years and suddenly kill me! You're pathetic Helren! You wasted all your time hunting me for nothing, traitor!"

Helren trembled vigorously as he picked himself up and sat back against his knees. His head flailed up and down from his weakness as he tried to speak. The General laughed at his meagerness and slapped him across the face..

"…Y-you're…a deadbeat…Godric…" he uttered quietly, "…you…y-you used…me…you lied…"

"Oh is that so? I'm a deadbeat?" he replied mockingly, "And who's the one who's half dead on his knees Helren?"

Helren shook his head slowly back and forth, "…that man…I…I c-can still feel…his voice…"

Sergeant Acwellan staggered back when he heard Helren say this.

"Wait…what do you mean 'feel his voice'? Who's voice are you talking about?"

Before he could speak, the General violently grabbed and squeezed his neck, choking him and turning his face turned a dark red. He threw him backwards and grabbed his hair, dragging him back up the road towards Arroya and shouting at Sergeant Acwellan to head to the ship.

"What were you thinking Helren," the General hissed broodingly, "Why did you come back?!"

He pulled Helren up to his face, his feet hanging loose to the floor and his head dangling to the side as he tried to answer back, "It…It's been nine years," he choked, "…and you, you still don't have…what you wanted so desperately…"

The General consequently frowned and held him closer, "It would have been such a simpler task if you hadn't gone and ruined it for us Helren!" he grabbed Helren's collar with both of his mighty hands and clenched his fists even tighter in frustration. "Western Ananthea could've been ours Helren! Both of us! The Windsors! And it wouldn't have ended there! You know just as I do that Syarkonia had its feet dipped in the waters of Crescendore and Calduron…we could've taken the Union as well!"

"…No Godric…" Helren whispered, "…y-you made a horrible… m-mistake trusting Alexa-"

"Shut your blacksnake mouth!" the General screamed and punched Helren on the jaw, "I know what I-"

"No!" he shouted back, "No you don't…you have no sense of the truth brother…these men… these men…" he weakly muttered words to himself.

The General was becoming furious as Helren continued to bash at his ideals and shook Helren violently in his grasp, "You are the one with no sense of truth! This land belongs to the Windsors, and I will do all I can with my power and the power of others to claim it! Alexander and his rotten group of idiots have no control over me! When I get my hands on this continent they will be bowing down to me!"

Helren forced a grin on his face and closed his eyes, "…you used me…Garrick used me…I know, just from that one fiend alone, you'll never-" The General had enough and threw him to the ground, kicking him over and over again until Helren was squealing like a pig trying to gasp for air. He again seized Helren by his hair and continue to drag him up until they reached the gates of the vile prison.

He called the five guards that were sitting and gambling at the entrance of Arroya. They quickly jumped onto their feet and ran to the General, saluting him. The General let go of Helren, wiping the locks of hair that were caught in between his fingers as Helren's head fell and clunked against the ground haphazardly.

"Tie him up," he ordered, "And this time two of you kee an eye on him". The men scrambled around and picked up the enormous man, seeing the man's face and realizing it was the long lost brother of the General's.

"Tie him up good…" he said gravely, as he watched the men bring him down into the prison. The General turned around and headed back to the harbor, dragginging his feet and frowning in anger from the meeting. Sergeant Acwellan was still standing around where all the dead bodies were, inspecting the corpses.

"What the hell are you doing here Sergeant! I told you to go to the ship!"

He hesitated, "S-Sir…Corporal Colby…isn't here,"

"I don't have time for that pest!" he shouted, "We still have work to do."

They walked onto the dock platforms and onto to ship that had been docked and waiting patiently to sail for hours now.

Lt. Errol was already on the ship and stood at the helm, watching as the entire scene took place. He had already recruited a platoon of soldiers that were running back and forth all over the deck, moving supplies to the cargo room and getting the sails ready for launch. When the General and Sergeant Acwellan boarded the ship, all the men stopped and saluted the two except for Lt. Errol, but they paid no attention and stormed straight into the captain's quarters. The General walked to his dresser and placed the Creighton firmly on top.

"Take a seat Sergeant," he said calmly. Sergeant Acwellan sat back easily against the exquisite chair that had gold arm rests and velvet upholstery. The General sat down on his equally impressive chair and dictated to the Sergeant.

"Dismiss all that Helren had said. The man is and always will be a traitor."

Sergeant Acwellan was curious about Helren, especially after hearing him mention something about a voice.

"Sir, if you don't mind me asking-"

"Ah yes Sergeant. I know what you want to hear…" the General sighed and spoke apprehensively, "At the time of the revolution as you know, myself and the leading officers of the Army had hoped to get the Legionnaires on our side to make the transition easier, but Helren was planning otherwise. He, like King Elrick, wanted to take Calduron for himself, and was trying to convince Lt. Colonel Ranald Evelac to join him in their takeover. Lt. Colonel Evelac though, was loyal to our cause, and when he found out that Helren and another Lieutenant of the navy were planning to defect and provide a counter offensive, he had warned me and I myself had gone to negotiate with Helren to join us. But the fool was insane. He had lost his mind, and when I went to his chambers that night, he tried to kill me. Can you imagine a brother fighting against his brother, its pathetic. Helren was a dunce, a simple brute, and it wasn't hard for me to take him down. That scar on his face, that was from my own sword when we fought that night. Eventually he was brought to Arroya where as you know he escaped."

"But Sir…What of that voice he said he felt, and what of the other Lieutenant?

"Hmph," he smiled, "Like I said, he had lost his mind."

"But how?"

The General looked at him spiting, "The reason should not concern you Sergeant. As for the Lieutenant, the commanders and I agreed to give him chance if he-"

Sergeant Acwellan jumped up from his chair and spoke manically, "But Sir! I'm hearing a voice in my head as well! It's strong and the power is overwhelming! I..I…ch…gah!....AHH!"

He fell to floor in agony, tossing and turning and grabbing his head. The General shot up from his chair and stepped back as he watched the Sergeant flail on the ground. His veins were protruded exponentially from his head like they were about to burst. His eyes rolled back, and tears of blood were streaming down. The Sergeant screamed and hollered for the pain to cease, but it only got worse. His nails were digging into his head as he quavered and hammered around like a fish out of water. Suddenly he froze, and the zestful voice bellowed through his mind.

"This is the only warning I give you Sergeant. Do not mention anything about me. When he asks what has just happened, tell him a cockroach must have…crawled in your ear…"

His body loosened and his limbs which were frozen as they flailed in the air plummeted back onto the ground. The Sergeant was breathing and grunting heavily in excruciating pain as he lay on the floor wiping the blood that was dribbling out his nose, ears, and eyes. The General walked towards him and grabbed his head, staring fiercely into his eyes. He shook his head and stepped back, leaning against the wall.

"They have you, don't they?" he growled. Sergeant Acwellan only stared at him with wide eyes like a psychopath.

"Don't answer, I already know."

The Sergeants head was shaking like an earthquake, "N-n-n-no i-i-it wa-was j-just a-a-a c-c-cock-r-roach…"

Just then the door opened and a soldier stepped inside, oblivious to the scene taking place in the room. When he closed the door and turned around he saw the Sergeant sitting with blood all over his face and shaking uncontrollably, He looked shockingly at the General who spoke quickly.

"It's nothing! He, he disobeyed an order."

The soldier smirked, "Serves him right."

"What is it soldier?" he demanded.

"Sir, the men are saying that Helren was captured…is it true?" he asked innocently.

"Yes it is. Now get out, we are busy."

The soldier grimaced when he looked at the Sergeant who was in terrible shape," Uh yes Sir, but we stil need headings."

"Get Lieutenant Eroll."

The soldier became nervous, "Sir, Lt. Eroll isn't on board."

"What do you mean he isn't on board?"the General sneered, walking up to the man.

The soldier was trembling, fearing he would get the same as the Sergeant, "S-Sir, he said he had to help gather the remaining supplies and that was the last I saw of him, Sir. B-But I am his underling Sir, I can provide you the same information as he would…"

"Are you sure?" the General asked skeptically, "Then tell me, who is commanding the outboard ships heading to Morana?"

"The Admiral, Sir! I was at the docks when he arrived."

"Morgan?" he sounded surprised.

"Yes Sir. Admiral Seger. We were all a bit shocked to him too, but he said he was commanding the ships as a favor for you that he expected returned."

The General laughed, "What a man! Fine then. I was planning on meeting him but that will have to be for another time. Set our bearings to Broyer Port. We're going to Cenuaral."

"Yes Sir!" the soldier gasped, relieved as he left the room unscathed.

The General turned to Sergeant Acwellan who was struggling to crawl up on the chair, inspecting him up and down.

"We will get you some new, much more capable recruits when we reach Cenuaral," he said enthuastically, "And we'll get that cockroach out of your head."

"Huh," he stuttered, "I didn't m-"

"I've heard it before Sergeant. I know."

Sergeant Acwellan looked up at him surprised at the compassion in his voice, "Sir…W-why Cenuaral?"

The General sat down on his chair and grabbed a pen and a piece of parchment, "You're going to meet the other leaders of the revolution, Sergeant. I have my own business to attend to, but while that is going on, I'm sure you can make acquaintances with some of their underlings, and I would highly recommend it as well. The're all former warriors from the revolution. They fought tremendously for us against the Legionnaires, so they are highly capable men. "

The Sergeant brushed his hair to the side and started to wipe the blood that had now dried off of his face and neck.

"That's great to hear Sir, but what about the escapees and Morana?"

The General nodded his head and grinned, "You must not know much about Morgan, hm Sergeant?" He dipped the pen in the ink capsule and began writing.

"You mean Admiral Seger?" Sergeant Acwellan thought, "No, not that much…just that he was commander of a naval brigade at the beginning of the war and was promoted to Admiral of the Fleet afterwards.." He gazed at the General's uniform which had dozens of sparkling medals and patches, signaling him as a dignified and highly distinguished military officer.

The General re-inked his pen and spoke as he wrote, "Yes that's very true. You should know that promotions are given out for a reason, Sergeant, and to be promoted from a Commander to the Admiral of the entire naval fleet, well, even I'm impressed. But I know his capabilities and he is a good friend of mine. I know he won't let me down."

The General swiveled his pen, crossing his T's but leaving the I's undotted, and folded the letter, placing it inside the drawer next to him. He stood back up, the orange glow of the setting sun turning his uniform to a deep purple. Luxus was slowly getting further away, becoming hidden by the dense grey smog that suffocated the land, as the ship sailed east towards Calduron.

His voice returned to the usual dark and authoritative tone, "Notify me when we reach the harbor."

"Yes Sir!"

He walked over to the study table and pulled a thick book from the shelf, opening it to where he had a marker about halfway through and pulling the chair to sit and read. Sergeant Acwellan was sitting casually, picking at the encrusted blood that still stuck in his nose.

"Go Sergeant," he said, looking over his shoulder and peering at the Sergeant with the corner of his eye.

Sergeant Acwellan staggered out of the chair and marched outside. There were several groups of soldiers at different parts of the ship: three standing at the bow chatting nonchalantly, four men sitting in a circle in the center of the deck tossing dice, two men at the helm; one keeping a steadfast eye on the horizon, the other trying to start some small talk, and six other men who had opened up the deck doors on the ground and were trying to guide a large wooden crate into the hull.

The Sergeant walked up to the crate and knocked on it to get a sense of what was inside. It was packed full with something, as the knock created a dull sound like knocking on cement. He grabbed a man that was pulling a rope, dragging the crate towards the hull.

"What is in this?" he asked.

The man paused to regain his strength, and started tugging at the rope, "To be honest…I…don't… know!" he grunted as he pulled at the cumbersome load, "This…was brought to us…just before…we set sail."

Sergeant Acwellan patted the man on the shoulder and allowed him to continue his struggle with the crate. He climbed up to the crows nest and gazed out into the horizon where he could see the faintest outline of Calduron just above the horizon. The Sergeant was still a young man, not even twenty, and he hadn't seen his homeland ever since he joined the army five years ago at the start of the civil war. He didn't really mind being stationed in Luxus as he had gotten accustomed to the 'Luxus lifestyle', but he was grateful to be departing the dull, melancholic island.

NEW CHAPTER

The great mound of greenery shuffled in the whistling winds as the ocean waves began to gain strength and pound the isthmus, sending sprays of white water splashing onto Edmund who was standing quietly with his arms stretched on either side of him and his palms facing outward towards both sides of the sea.

Orbis....Procella… Ventus…

Pulsus Velox

He had been chanting in this position for more than five hours now, concentrating deeply on the wind as it swelled and rushed throughout his periphery. His shadow had been elongated from the Sun which was setting behind him, casting it all the way down into the entrance of the path that Cyril and Captain Rutherford had chopped away. Slowly it became darker and darker as the Sun was devoured by the sea and heavy grey clouds swirled around the volcanic island like a malevolent halo.

The speed at which the nefarious corona of clouds whorled increased dramatically. The trees and vegetation were pulled and bent towards the right as the velocity of the swirling clouds increased. Vines and branches were torn off and sucked into the vicious circular vortex that screamed ferociously above, ever increasing in speed and menacing grey opaqueness. A wall of dust and debris encircled the forest as more and more foliage was severed and caught in the wind's motion.

Edmund's feet were mounted steadily on the ground while he struggled to channel the clouds faster and faster by moving his arms in a circular fashion above his head. His robes flapped tempestuously as the gale winds tore the forest to shreds, uprooting bands of trees and umbrage and tossing them out into the ocean like children throwing rocks into a pond.

Gradually the winds began to slow and ease in strength as Edmund's own energy diminished. The circular cloud formation began to spread out, reluctantly letting go of the small trees and shrubbery it had trapped in its furious spin. The wall of dirt and brush hovered listlessly in the air until they inevitably dove back down, thumping on the ground by Edmund or splashing into the ocean. He staggered back and fell on his rump, sitting and watching while the rugged and rocky body of the volcano languidly came into view as the dust settled. There was still a good amount of thick hedges left, but most of the trees that still stood were stripped naked of their leaves, leaving only wiry branches.

Edmund took a few minutes to catch his breath and regain his focus. He had just made Aisling's land a bit more navigable, at least to the point where he could see where he wanted to go, which was a large hole like a cave in the middle of the volcanoes steep incline. There looked to be a line of lighter dirt that snaked its way down the volcanoes side and disappeared into the remaining brush at the base. It was a possible trail that Edmund spent no time wasting to find.

He stood up and brushed off his clothes that had been covered with dirt and ran into the brushwood. He came to the base of the volcano which had been tainted green from moss and followed the cleared path that circled around. As he came to the back of the volcano, there were some carvings into the mountainside that read:

BEWAIR DANJERUS DANJER

Edmund knew he had to be close by slowed his pace to a brisk walk until he came across an opening in the base like a cave. Being mindful of the warnings he came across, he came to a halt at the edge of the entrance and backed up against the rocky wall. He just barely moved his head over the opening to get a look inside the cave, but not a thing came into sight as it was entirely pitch black. He moved back and noticed a fallen tree that was strewn about just a few feet away and decided to stop and sit to rest his body and mind before deciding what to do next..

Just as he was about to move, a faint squeal echoed out of the cave that unsettled him and caused Edmund to instantly jump back against the wall and gander left and right anxiously, making sure nothing was on his tail. It sounded like an old woman that had witnessed something very confusing, or like a creaking door that went higher in pitch as it was slowly opened more and more. Whatever it was, there was definitely something inside.

It would've been a terrible lie to say Edmund was not afraid. His two friends had gone missing on a desecrated island where there was no other person left. He was alone in the night, about to storm a bizarre pitch black cave located inside a volcano where he could hear unusual noises from a strange unknown creature that would most likely rip him to pieces if he went in without a well thought out plan.

He stood nervously outside the cave trying to gather the courage to venture in, but while he was taking the time to rest, the adrenaline that was pumping through his veins gradually lessened and he could feel his body getting weaker and heavier and his thoughts becoming grudged and inconsistent in his mind. This was the price he had to pay for using up so much of his energy and spirit on that impressive spell for such a long duration of time. He had barely the ability to move, now that the spell had taken its toll on his body, and he fell clumsily to floor landing on his side as he breathed fast and heavily.

There was bustle of noise like metal clanging together that rang through the cave, spurring sudden convulsions from Edmund as he tried to get up thinking it could be the Captain's armor, but his attempts were made feeble as his arms could not sustain the weight of his torso. He tried to yell for Captain Rutherford and Cyril, but he was too weak and only muttered the words from his mouth. He then heard a sputter of laughter from what sounded like an old woman, and possibly in response, someone shout out. Edmund guessed it could've been one of the two men and desperately tried to at least sit upright, but his body would not cooperate and he could himself losing the battle to stay conscious.

The old crackly voice became clearer and louder as it hummed and sang 'Do De Da! La Le Wa! Ee Be Da Ba Do Be Da!' quite painfully out of tune. Edmund was nearly gone when he heard the footsteps of the mysterious creature kick up dirt and rocks as it reached the entrance of the cave and come to halt upon noticing him.

"Oh?"

The precarious individual walked over to Edmund who lay motionless and half-conscious on the ground. The last thing Edmund saw was a blackened stick like figure as it lifted its arm and then let out a squeaky 'He he he!' before feeling a sudden pain on the top of his head and completely blacking out.

He awoke sometime later with his head pulsating with a sharp pain. He opened his eyes, or so he thought, but everything was still pitch black. It was very hot and stuffy, and his clothes were drenched in what was most likely his sweat. The place smelled like rotten eggs coupled with sulfur and strangely a hint of some sweet citrus like lime or lemon. He tried to move and realized that his hands were tied behind his back but his legs were free to kick about, which he did with great enthusiasm, knocking some metal pots over and breaking a few glass bottles that caused quite a stir. He heard the voice again as it rushed over to him, taking big inhalations each time it look a sluggish step.

"New! New! Eee!" the scratchy voice squealed as it kicked aside the shattered mess.

"Untie me at once!" he demanded. The unknown source of speech grabbed a piece of broken pottery and started hitting Edmund on top of the head.

"AH! Stop! Leave me alone!" he shouted, twisting this way and that trying to avoid the painful blows.

"Eee! New! New new new neeew!" it continued to screech, pounding the blunt object against his noggin each time it barked 'New' and hitting him repetitively over and over again during the elongated pronunciation of 'Neeew'. .

Edmund threw his legs around wildly like the trees he had uprooted with his spell, hitting the captor in the shins as it shrieked in pain, stumbling over.

"Ahhh!! Eeee! Deeveeel! You deeveeel! Burn Deeveeel, Burrrn!" it shrilled, the full sound of its speech making it clear to Edmund that it must have been an old senile woman.

"Eeee! Burrrn!" she screamed, pouring some odd, gooey liquid on top of his head. Edmund screamed in terror and flung himself about when the ooze plopped onto his head, thinking he was about to burst into flames or melt away, but after a minute of wailing and flopping about, he realized nothing was happening and he could hear intense laughter coming from somewhere further in. He shouted for someone to take the blindfold off his eyes and untie him, but there was no response to his calls of distress, although he could feel the presence of someone or something nearby.

"Let me go! Please! Remove these blindfolds and let me see!" he went on pleading, "Help! Untie me, please!"

He kept quiet for a few seconds to try and listen for someone but there was no response or any noise that signaled a person being around.

Edmund started to become disheartened and the tone and intensity of his voice was becoming quieter and weaker.

"Please…at least remove the blinders…"he sniffled. A sudden crushing of a piece of glass nearby prompted him to burst out with passion.

"Let me go! Please! I mean no harm! Let me go!"

The familiar shrill voice of the woman screamed back 'Neeew' and she slapped him across the face. Then he heard a chuckle from a man that laughed, "Lady, lady it's alright he's okay!"

"Neew!" she shrieked, "He's a deevill! Eeevill myan! Ahh!"

She must have stumbled back and tripped because there was a loud racket and the sound of glass breaking and barrels toppling and rolling over. Suddenly his vision came back to him as his blindfolds were removed, and he was intensely relieved to see the familiar burgundy scarf dangling from the man's neck.

"Long time-no see!" he said jokingly, bowing to Edmund.

Edmund laughed sarcastically, "Yes very funny, now could you please untie me?" he looked over and saw the tiny old woman. She looked practically like a skeleton, with a long face like a horse's, pointy eyes, and small dirty mouth that housed a frightening display of cracked lips and crooked teeth. She wore a blanket tied around her waste and another tightly around her neck that was stuffed all the way to the chin and flowed over her small frail body like a large shawl, covering it completely. Her grey hair was thick and very dirty, and it stretched all the way down to the ground.

Cyril bent over and was unraveling the rope that bound Edmund, but not before the clangorous old woman clucked with her shrill voice, "New! Eveel! Look! Eveel Teeth!" she pointed at Edmund's elongated canine, "Eveel teeth!"

Cyril laughed and pulled the man to his feet.

"Miss, it's alright, he's with me," he tried to explain, but the woman would not have it and rummaged through a barrel full of bottles and small containers, pulling out a vial of green powder.

"Eveel magic! I saw it! He made the storm!" she pulled off the cork and tossed the green powder all over Edmund who started sneezing and jumping around trying to brush it off, "Eeee!"

"I AM NOT EVIL!" he shouted back, but not really convincing the woman to any degree. She began digging through the barrel again but Cyril picked the small wiry woman up from under her arms, holding her in the air trying to explain the situation to her while she flailed about like a child with a tantrum.

"Just listen lady. This man's name is Edmund. He's good, not evil, good." The old woman kicked and squealed more and more, "Put me down! Down Seeril! Down!"

Cyril placed her gently down and she scurried off like a starved rat down the dark torch lit halls. This finally gave Edmund some time to evaluate his surroundings. He was in a very small cavern that had two halls leading in different directions, one straight ahead in which the old woman frantically ran through blabbering her insane talk, and one to the right that was covered by an elaborate red and purple tribal blanket. In the corner was a large boiling pot with the fire burning underneath and with a long wooden spoon inside it used for mixing. Next to it were shelves that had been carved into the black rocky wall with many vials and bottles of all shapes and sizes that were filled with an array of substances displayed inside. There were two barrels, one was full of vials, the other had tipped over during his and the woman's struggle and some of the vials inside had shattered when they hit the rocky floor.

Cyril eyed Edmund who noticed Cyril eyeing him and wiping his head, trying to tell Edmund to feel his head, but he took the signal in the wrong way and tweaked his head like a curious dog at Cyril.

"Your head…" he clarified, rubbing his hair. Edmund touched his head and quickly pulled his hand away when he felt the gooey purple-green substance that stretched and dripped from his fingers. He held it to his nose and sniffed, pulling away and gagging at the grotesque odor.

"Ugh! Oh…oh…" he moaned, spitting a little vomit that had made its way to his mouth. Cyril could not help himself, so he stepped over to Edmund and sniffed his head, jerking back at the repulsive smell and twirling around holding his mouth, but unfortunately not as lucky as to hold in his stomach like Edmund.

"…Ugh…oh god…no…no!" Cyril gasped, coughing and gagging his throat clear. He stood up straight and grabbed some of the vials off of the shelf and held it to a torch that was attached to the wall, reading the vials that had been labeled with red paint.

"Ulighurk Pharimone Lenste…Nolixi Sale …" he read on, "…Laisnalin Fisum? What in the world?" He placed the bottles back and grabbed some from the barrel, reading the names aloud to Edmund, "Have you heard of these?...Tartoo Espensun? Ded Lee?"

"Hand me the Laisnalin Fisum," Edmund said, holding out his hand as he was still bent over.

"Laisnalin Fisum…" he said quietly to himself, opening the bottle and sniffing the light blue concoction.

"You probably shouldn't sniff that…" Cyril warned, cautiously placing the bottles and vials back on the shelf.

"Hmm, it smells strangely familiar, like a briny mixture sandalwood and salt….Laisnalin Fisum…" Edmund thought, repeating himself, "Laisnalin Fisum…"

Cyril looked worriedly at Edmund and bent over to look at his eyes, "Yeah…"

"Laisnalin…Fisum…" he said again, his eyes widening as they scanned the room up, down, left, and right.

Cyril threw his head back and shook it like he was trying to get sand out, grabbing and pulling at his face in grief.

"Oh Ed, you're repeating yourself…I told you not to sniff it…" he moaned, pulling his hair back as he watched Edmund continue to sniff and analyze the vial.

"No…no…Laisnalin Fisum…"

"Yes!" Cyril yelled, "Laisnalin Fisum! It's Laisnalin Fisum! Give me that damned vial before you drive us both mad!" he shouted, trying to snatch the bottle from Edmunds hand, but he pulled it away and gave it another sniff.

"Cyril…doesn't that sound oddly familiar? Laisnalin Fisum…"

"Tch! Well yeah! You've said it ten times already!"

Cyril grabbed the blue vial from Edmund's hand and tossed it on the ground, spilling the contents on the floor. The liquid dispersed on the floor and multiplied in area that was much greater than it's total content. The men jumped back against the wall as the blue liquid took up more space on the ground and suddenly stopped. It shined like mercury and tiny little waves flowed back and forth while reflecting the jagged ceiling above them. Edmund looked over at Cyril who looked at him and then down at the strange liquid. He moved closer and peered over it, seeing his reflection and then becoming perfectly still.

"What is it?" Cyril asked Edmund, who continued to stare into silver-blue liquid mirror without any acknowledgement of Cyril, "…oh yeah that's what I thought…"

Edmund's eyes became even wider as he stood over the fluid, staring intently into it and not moving a single muscle. Cyril looked down the hall where the woman had run and then back at Edmund, who was standing eerily motionless.

"Edmund," he said, trying to get his attention. He moved over next to Edmund and shouted, "Edmund!" but he was caught in a tantalizing daze with the liquid. Cyril moved closer and looked over at the liquid, freezing still and getting trapped in the same stare as Edmund, but he soon realized what Edmund was more than looking at.

His vision was very blurry and hazy, like he was experiencing life with eyes underwater. He found himself on the rocky isthmus that separated Morana and Aisling, with Edmund looking at him frowning with curiosity and Captain Rutherford running towards the beach shouting for them to hurry. He fixed his eyes out into the waters at their ship that was anchored not too far out in the calm seas. The sun was rising just over the volcano to their right, and he saw the forest that had been cleared almost naked, but not knowing who or what did it.

"What's going on?" Edmund asked, utterly confused, "How did we get here?"

Cyril was just as flustered as Edmund and shook his head while he walked down towards the desecrated village.

"Everything is so fuzzy…What is this?"

They were several flashes of light that came out from the sea and loud explosive pops that followed not long afterwards, then all of a sudden the ground and waters around them began to burst in one after another. The two men jumped to the ground and covered their heads as dirt and mud flew all around them.

"What the hell was that?!" Cyril screamed. There were many more light flashes and loud explosions, all happening in a series one after another. The two men could hear a loud whiz and then the ground around them burst savagely within a second of each other. Cyril scrambled to his feet, just barely getting caught in a collision that blew tons of sand and dirt, hitting and knocking him back to the ground. He glanced back at Edmund who was still laying on his stomach covering his head in fear.

"Run Ed! Run!" he screamed at the top of his lungs as more and more ground exploded ferociously just feet away from them, sending debris flying everywhere. Edmund jumped up onto his feet and ran, grabbing Cyril by the back of his shirt and pulling him up off the sand. They sped off as fast they could, jumping and diving whenever they heard a whiz or when the ground around them burst into oblivion.

"Cannon fire?!" Cyril shouted to Edmund who was too busy running as fast as he could for his life. They quickly went through the empty black plot of land that used to be the village on Morana and dashed through the small pathway that led to beaches, stopping abruptly when they saw Captain Rutherford locked in an intense battle with four Calduron soldiers near the walkway that Edmund had created earlier. There was a small water craft with about six other soldiers that were about to land on the beach and further out at sea there was another large galleon that was indistinguishable except for it's slight outline and the burst of lights that turned out to be exactly like Cyril thought, cannon fire.

Edmund yelled to Cyril, "Calduron?! How di-" but was cut off by a barrage of cannonballs that hammered the beach.

They didn't have any time to stop and think as more and more cannonballs blew just feet away from where they were standing, one ball blasting through the trunk of a palm tree and causing to it slowly tilt to the side and plummet to the sand in front of them. They had to hurry, seeing that Captain Rutherford was fighting gallantly alone and outnumbered, there was no time to waste.

Cyril bolted to the fight, jumping and kicking a soldier to the ground just before he was about to swing at the Captain. He grabbed the man's sword and parried a swing that came from above by another soldier, but just as the two blades clashed against each other, everything started to wobble vigorously back and forth, then the scene stretched out and slapped back in on itself like a rubber band and everything went black. Cyril was standing alone in an empty space with nothing in sight or a sound to hear, then suddenly he heard a loud overwhelming shriek that echoed deafeningly through the blank expanse.

"Seeril! The voice blasted.

Unexpectedly, he started to fall through the dark abyss then abruptly opened his eyes, only to find himself back in the blisteringly hot, dim lit cavern, sitting back against the wall with Edmund in the same condition next to him breathing fast. The two men gazed at each other in total disarray.

"Eeee! You Fool! You fool!" the old woman squealed, pointing her chubby wrinkled finger at both of them, "A Deevil and his fool!"

Cyril watched as the old woman fished around for the bottles that lay sprawled on the floor and noticed at the same time that the liquid had disappeared.

'What happened to the potion?" he wondered aloud. The lady shot towards him suddenly, he jerked back in sudden fright.

"No! No potion! Wait...yes! Sort of…" she said, pointing behind her at the pot, " I boil the ocean, and and- This!" She shuffled back and dug through the barrel crazily, tossing out dozens of vials that broke into pieces and secreted its contents as it smashed against the floor. She was on her stomach hanging over the edge almost about to fall in when they heard an uncanny 'This!' and she fell backwards and on to her knees, crawling towards them and holding a cloudy spherical object in her hands. "This!"

The two men inspected the sphere carefully. "What…a crystal ball?" Cyril asked uninterestedly.

"Ahhh!" she replied harmoniously, in a way in which it sounded like she was singing an entire octave, "This! Is! For fortunes! I can make these! See!" she jumped up and sprang towards the heated pot, dropping the crystal ball inside. It shattered and a sparkling puff of smoke slowly arose which she sucked up into her lungs then ran hysterically to the shelf, pulling out a bottle that was labeled 'Pyer Oshun'. She jumped back and poured the contents into the pot and began crushing and mixing the glass and liquid inside. Her face gradually reddened as she continued to hold her breathe until her lungs gave up on her and she exhaled, blasting a small amount of shimmering smoke out of her wrinkled mouth and again inhaling as hard as she could, then once more exhaling, this time much easier and widely grinning.

She continued grinding the mixture together and called 'Seeril' to her side and told him to take the spoon and mix for her. She ran into the other room which was hidden from their sight by the blanket and they could hear more bottles dropping on the floor breaking and rolling all around the floor. She returned with a large bottle of some yellow oil and poured it inside the caldron.

The room was filled with the faint scent of sandalwood and the salty ocean, nudging Edmund to get on his feet and exclaim, "Blue Vision!"

Cyril dropped his head in sorrow, thinking that his friend had lost his mind thanks to 'Laisnalin Fisum', but the old woman spun around and pointed at Edmund and gasped at his exclamation.

"Ah!" she held out her finger speechless, "Ehh?"

"I recognize this concoction now!" he exclaimed, Cyril sighing in relief that Edmund's brain was still functioning properly. The old woman made a strange contorted face as she listened to Edmund.

"Berringer used to make these at his shop! Don't you remember the potions he had for sale? This is Blue Visions! It's a very rare and special potion…how could you have this?" he said, turning to the old woman.

Cyril grabbed the vial from Edmund's hands and read it over carefully, "…How do you get 'Blue Visions' from…" he paused to sound out the words, "…Lah-is-nah-lin Fizum?"

"No no. You see, Berringer used to produce these concoctions at his shop. We made these together and I know from observation. It's drafted in an usual language he said he learned while growing up on an island around the Delya Archipelago, some sort of dialect restricted to that land…" he glanced over at the old woman who's face was practically glowing white and was frozen in shock. He continued, "This potion is a masterpiece in mysticism. It has the capability to show you the next…big…event…in your life…" His voice became less enthusiastic as he finished his sentence, his eyes widening while realizing what he was saying, and that what they had just experienced in that dreamland might actually happen.

A light flashed in Cyril's head and his eyes widened upon recalling the wooden displays full of oddly colored and shaped vials which he had shoved into countless potato sacks.

"Cyril…"

He was busy smiling, lost in his head, thinking of the grand thefts he had pulled off back in the day. "Hmm?"

"Did you hear what I said…this liquid is supposed to show whoever looks into it, the next big event that will take place in their life..." he paused giving Cyril time to realize what that meant, "simply put, it tells you your fortune…that's not good for us…" Cyril's excitement and glee vanished as he stared blankly at the walls of the cavern upon consummating that they would be caught in a very risqué situation sometime soon…then the scraggly woman's scratchy voice broke in.

"B-B-Berringer?" she quipped in astonishment, looking up to Cyril and repeating herself, "Berringer!"

She peered over at Edmund, giving him an evil look with her eye, "Berringer is my son! Berringer is my son! You?" she said pointing her scrawny finger at Edmund, "Know Berringer?"

"I-I was employed at his boutique in Luxus." He replied. The woman's face became depressed and her light green eyes began to sparkle as the flickering flame from the torch reflected off the tears that built up on her lids.

"Berringer…oh Berringer!" she squealed as the tears inevitably fell from the corners of her eyes and came streaming down her face, "Oh! Oh-ho-ho!" she wailed.

Cyril was watching the woman cry her heart out as he stirred the mixture in the pot next to her, confused if he should stop and comfort the old lady or continue stirring. Edmund had a concerned look on his face when the woman couldn't stop crying and whimpering Berringer's name.

"Is there something the matter? Do you know where he is?" he asked the woman with a morbid tone, knowing something must have happened to his old friend, "Berringer is a good friend of mine, he helped me many times in Luxus. Please, where is he?"

The old woman clenched her teeth and snarled at Edmund who took a step back against the wall. She came with both of her hands held in front of her in a strangling position, jumping up and grabbing him by the neck, "You Deevil! You killed Berringer! You killed my son!" she shrieked.

Cyril was looking over his shoulder as the woman strangled his friend, still unsure whether to jump in or not, and deciding that he'd be better off just stirring the pot instead of getting tangled in the woman's craze.

"WHY!" she screamed, "You killed Berringer!" Edmund tried to respond, but the old woman had surprisingly strong hands and a clasp that rivaled a crab's and the only thing that came out of his mouth was 'Grlakah' and 'Blaroahgh', and some drool.

She rattled him violently then released her clutch on his throat, leaving Edmund keeled over on his knees gasping for air and unbuttoning the top of his robe. She stepped back next to a barrel that had a wooden cover with a fine silver handle attached to the top in the shape of a crescent moon, a sure sign that she was from Crescendore.

"I," he gasped, "I…had nothing….to do…with Berringer's…death…" he took several deep breathes, "Berringer was…my friend…"

"Deevill!" she cried, "your mageek killed Bear!" she collapsed on the floor and wept in her hands..

Edmund felt her despair, as he also had close connections with the man who cared for him like a father when he first arrived as a desperate lonely child at the Life Boutique's front steps so long ago.

"No…you're highly mistaken, Ms. Ramyla."

The old woman sniffled and wiped her eyes, looking at him surprised.

"H-how dyu y-you kn-know me?" she stuttered.

"I wasn't lying when I said I worked at his shop in Luxus, Berringer's Life Boutique."

"Huh?"

"He had a shop in the Isle of Luxus to the north of here, where he sold potions, scrolls, fortunes…all the items a mystic would have…that's how I recognized your concoctions," he paused and walked over to the shelf, picking out a green vial that was labeled '4 Pane' and inspecting it over , "I first met Berry around nine years ago."

"Berry…" she whimpered.

Edmund sat down on a barrel and stared into the smoldering Caldron which was boiling the Blue Visions mixture. "I was only a child, on my own, and I had no home to return to…so I traveled anywhere I could, and anywhere ended up being the door to his shop."

He stopped and dropped his head down, holding it in his hands. "I remember seeing that wild sign with drawings of ghosts and monsters and flowers in all shades of color and Berringers Life Bootique spelled incorrectly...I don't know why but I was drawn to it, and when I was about to open the door, Berry bumped into me from behind, not knowing I was there because he was holding a crate full of bottles. One of them fell out and he cringed expecting it to shatter on the floor, but I caught it after it bounced off my head. When he looked down and saw me, he smiled, thanking me with that accent like yours where he said every word very sharply, and asked me if I wanted something, but I told him I had no money and was alone. He asked if I needed help finding my family and I told him I had none, and right there and then he said he would make me his apprentice. I was a little shocked and confused, but I accepted without hesitation because I needed a place to stay."

"Oh Bear, Bear, Bear…" the old woman said under hear breathe, shaking her head.

"After that day we became great friends, like father and son. Rather than him treating me like an apprentice and I treating him like my master, we treated each other like best friends, joking and laughing and testing each other's wits. Although the shop never had any business, we kept our spirits up by having fun and creating new potions, even writing some idiotic false predictions and putting them up for sale…"

Cyril's eyebrow rose in intrigue. He finally stopped stirring and turned to listen to Edmund.

"That was life for the next nine years. We shared everything with each other, that's how I got to know who you were. He said you and his father were the one's who taught him and his brother the art of mysticism."

She wiped the tears from her eyes, "Mmhm…Paps…"

"But then only about nine or ten days ago, he had gotten a formal writ from the governor of Luxus to close the boutique or risk being arrested. According to the governor, our goods were 'detrimental to the citizen's and Caldurons safety', and plus we hadn't had a single customer the entire time I was employed-which meant we owed large amounts of money for rent," he gazed over at Cyril to his right, grinning slightly and shaking his head, "So one day he sat me down and simply said, 'Are days were good, but they couldn't last…we're closing'. I didn't even get to say a word, he just pushed me outside the doors, handed me all the money he had, and told me he was going home and for me to find my truth…and that was the last I saw of him. I by then I was used to things like this happening to me, so I thought I'd just move on and would take a ship to the mainland that day and return to my studies, but I ended up getting into a hustle with some soldiers who recognized me as being associated with Berringer and they quickly apprehended me and threw me in prison. That's where I met Cyril."

The woman stood up and walked up to Edmund, staring up at him and at his tooth. She moved his hair that was covering his eye and then grabbed his hands and felt the black leather glove on one and the cloth that he had wrapped on the other.

"Oh, oh my…oh my…You be Edmund Suvanna?" she gasped.

He shut his eyes tightly and nodded his head.

"Oh my…yes, the tooth…Bear shared stories of you, but I thought he had just ingested too many Opulent Dreams! Please! Please forgive my rashness!" she got on her knees, "I mistook you! You couldn't possibly be the one…"

Edmund got up from the barrel and gently pulled her up by her thin arms. She closed her eyes and embraced Edmund, driving her head deep into his chest. More tears began to fall as she sobbed and tried to speak. "Oh Edmund! You were the light in my darling Bear's life!" she pulled back and clasped her hands together at her heart, "Ye know, Bear was always a mischievous little boy. He got into much trouble with many people, especially his father. They had a bitter relationship those two, and it eventually was too much him and it drove my sweet Bear away from home. We never had a single premonition about this. Many, many years he was gone…and we all tried to search our souls and find him in our fortunes, but never, never did he appear! It was only a few days ago…he showed up right in here with not a warning, standing quietly behind me while I... was stirring my brew…" she sniffled and choked, covering her face again as she was unable to hold in her tears.

Edmund took this time to gather the courage to ask her about Berringer, "Ms. Ramyla, what happened to Bear? A-and, what do you mean by 'the one'?"

The old woman looked as if she had fear and guilt in her eyes when she gazed into Edmund's and spoke.

"Bear shared with me your…" she moved her eyes down towards his waste where Edmunds hands were intertwined by the fingers. He and glanced over at Cyril who was staring back at him with confusion.

He stuttered as he tried to reply with caution, "Y-you…He-"

"Please," Ms. Ramyla interrupted, "Do not fret boy. I understand, now that I've seen you…"

Cyril looked back and forth between Edmund and Ms. Ramyla in total mystification, unaware and utterly puzzled as to why they were talking in this secretive manner. He was about to open his mouth, hoping to join in the conversation, but Ms. Ramyla quickly continued to explain.

"…See boy…Bear mentioned you were a disciple of a Ponderer named Professor Searle-"

"You know him?"

"-I do wish…but I know very well the significance of the Ponderers. Immediately I understood what that meant."

"Please, " Edmund nudged in Cyril's direction, "…Just tell me of Berringer."

Ms. Ramyla registered what he was implying and went on, "…Bear finally came home and we spent the entire time together filling the lapse. For just over a week, I was a fulfilled woman again knowing my youngest child had come back home…but then…only a few days ago…"

Strong emotions rushed back to her as she tried to tell the story, but Edmund and Cyril already had an accurate presumption as to what she was going to say when they noticed her face getting red and her voice becoming chalky again.

"…We were g-gathering ingredients for our potions…" she hiccupped, "just outside in the f-forest…then suddenly th-there was an omin…ominous voice that pierced the air. The animals became distressed; flocks of birds fluttering away, the beasts of the forests ran into the sea. Th-the clear, beautiful, s-star filled sk-sky had been engrossed by swift tormentuous clouds. Like the bubbling of my caldron, th-th-the oceans churned with increasing anger… and I remember…Bear, dropped his satchel and ran out of the forest. I screamed for him to come back but my boy only shouted for me to stay and he ran and ran. I could not bear to see my son go…to get away from me again…so I followed after him the b-best my old r-r-ragged body would…"

"Please Ms. Ramyla," Edmund cut in, "You don't have to continue…"

Edmund came towards Ms. Ramyla and placed his hand on her scrawny shoulder. Her body quivered as she tried to keep her emotions under control, but dire grimness swelled over the old woman, weighing down heavily on her frail body. She grabbed his hand, embracing it and holding it against her face. Tears transferred from her cheek to his black leather glove and she started to loosen the strap. Surprised, Edmund jerked his hand back, but Ms.. Ramyla grabbed it again and held it with both of her hands.

"Ms. Ramyla…" He whispered under his breath, trying to keep himself as quiet as possible, "…Cyril doesn't know about me…and he can't."

Her face became distorted, "Eh? What was that you say?"

"Cyril doesn't know about me, and he can't know about my hands," he whispered again.

The old woman glanced over at Cyril who was standing back against the wall near the now smoking caldron -the contents inside being totally evaporated- with his arms crossed and his head faced towards the side so that his ear was directed towards the conversation in order get a better listen. Their voices had become too quiet for him to eavesdrop on and it was beginning to annoy him due to the fact that he didn't know half of what they were speaking of and because they had now reserved themselves to whispering to each other.

"You know," he interrupted, "secrets are for liars…"

Edmund and Ms. Ramyla stopped and turned their heads toward Cyril for a moment and saw his big sarcastic grin, then, Ms. Ramyla gestured with her finger for them to follow her as she passed into the blanket-covered-entrance room. Edmund shrugged and walked behind her, as did Cyril behind Edmund. The old woman came to an abrupt halt just as she was about to flap open the "door" and spun around.

"Hold it!" she shrieked, snapping her arm out and unleashing her punishing finger, "This is not for eyes of your kind."

Cyril froze in his tracks and hesitated to speak out against her decision, but the woman turned back around and disappeared along with Edmund into the darkness behind the blanket.

He sighed knowing that he had nothing to offer in this meeting and walked over to the large pot and looked inside, seeing that the metallic-blue liquid he had mixed earlier had now been reduced to black ash and a small deformed slab of glass. The fire underneath had begun to die down and was slowly becoming a smoldering pile of charred wood.

A small fire poker was situated on the other side of the room next to the wooden barrel that had the Crescendorean handle on top. He walked over and grabbed the poker, then realizing the handle. It was much like the knob that was attached to the door of the captain's cabin on their ship, and it made Cyril think for a second, but only for that second as he went back to poke at the fire.

He shoved the poker in and out, mixing around the smoldering ash and debris. The flame became aggravated and burned stronger for a few seconds before easing down again. Cyril poked and poked at the fire for a few minutes while he waited in monotony for the two to return until he accidentally pulled out a clump of burning wood and ash from the pit onto the rock floor. He stared down at them in a bored stupor and saw the reflection of the many small vials against the minuscule flames that lay strewn about around his feet, all with different shades of either red, blue, green, or white.

Curious and a bit hesitantly, Cyril reached down and grabbed a few of them from off the ground and held them out into the light that radiated from the torch on the wall, quietly reading the names of each vial to himself out loud.

'"Iaur Laou…Juerguer…Oonahm Lememon…Yuilini Alpi Asrama…"

He stopped and checked the room to see if anyone was lingering around and promptly shoved the vials in his inner coat pockets. He grabbed another handful and held them to the light.

"Ded Lee…Tutrion Ogal Di…Sifflo Gurgan…Nuon Nuon."

Again Cyril surveyed the room to find no other life form, and quickly put them in the other pockets inside his coat. He went back to the barrel and grabbed some more, but just as he pulled them out the old woman's shrill voice yelled his name, frightening and causing him to drop all the vials on the ground, shattering one after another. He hastily skipped out of the room and nonchalantly opened the blanket to enter the equally dim niche on the other side where he saw Edmund flipping through pages of an old dusty book and the old woman painting a perfect circle on the floor. There was a small desk with a few candles lit on top and next to it a small bookshelf with spines labeled in languages that Cyril could not interpret. More barrels were lined up against the wall all around the room, some big, some small. Cyril walked to the side near Edmund and sit down atop of one.

"What's going on?" he asked, peaking at the book Edmund was reading. Edmund slapped both sides of the book together so hard that Cyril almost fell off the barrel. He walked over to the desk and placed the book on top, then walked over to the woman who had just completed drawing a triangle inside the circle. He hovered above the old woman and studied the drawing, holding his chin in his hands and flicking his hair to the side.

"There needs to be a triangle in the opposite direction," he commented. The woman stopped and turned her head up towards Edmund and squinted , "Mmhm…"

"Right, sorry, go ahead."

She got up and walked around the circle to the other side where she began to carefully draw the another triangle. He stepped back and turned, bumping into Cyril who was standing directly behind him.

"What is going on?"

Edmund took a gander at the woman and back at Cyril, his hair flapping back and forth, "You mean with her?"

"No," he replied sternly, "I mean with everything. What are you doing? What is she doing? Where are we? Where is Rutherford? What is going on?!"

Edmund struggled to get the words out and stuttered, looking back and forth between the old woman and Cyril..

"I…Uh…"

"What aren't you telling me Edmund?"

Edmund froze and glanced to the side where the book lay on the desk, with Cyril's eyes following the path. He frowned and grabbed the book from the desk.

"No wait!"

Edmund tried to snatch the book from Cyril but he pushed him away and held the book to the light.

"Alchemy and Sacred Geometry…" he read aloud. He turned around and tossed the book onto the desk. Sweat was formulating on Edmund's forehead and his eyes fluttered as he tried to think of something to say. Cyril looked Edmund up and down.

"What is Alchemy?" he asked. The old woman stood up from her drawing and watched and listened, wanting to see what Edmund had to say, but he didn't respond and it started to annoy Cyril.

"Why are you so choked up? What's going on?" he asked, eyeing Edmund suspiciously. Still, Edmund did not have an answer for Cyril. The old woman broke in before the situation became overbearingly awkward.

"Seeril…"

He continued to watch Edmund without regard for her. Ms. Ramyla crept around the circle and walked in between the two men, pushing Cyril backwards until he sat down on a barrel. They were all very silent for a few moments until Cyril finally spoke with frustratingly.

"Who are you?" he asked accusingly, glaring at the old woman, "What-"

"Shh. Shut your mouth Seeril. You want answers, then I shall I oblige…"she said softly, turning to Edmund, "…Yaknow who you travel with?"

"Apparently not as mu-"

"Good, ya know enough then." She stepped to the side and opened the obtuse barrel next to him that was filled with a fine golden powder. Then she moved to the next barrel, opening the cover and revealing a silvery liquid. Then she moved to the next, and the next, opening the covers and showing Cyril all the precious contents inside.

"Wha-"

"Shh Seeril. You want answers, I shall tell you." The old woman pulled back the cloth that rested on her bony arms and held them out to Cyril, stunning him, his eyes wide with amazement. They were heavily tattooed with many bizarre symbols and geometric patterns that had all sorts of shapes and lines that intertwined with each other. They ran all the way up and down her arms, starting from her wrists where there were two lines of symbols that were tattooed like a bracelet. Lines extended out from each symbol and connected to some clusters of shapes that were placed inside one another and formed flowery hexagons, octagons, Triquetras , and many other unique varieties of patterns he had never seen before. She pulled down the cloth around her neck slightly, exposing more symbols, then pulled back her mangy hair to show that the whole enigmatic array continued on, filling her entire neck and back with tattoos.

"What is all of this?" he asked, astonished. The old woman flapped her arms and swung her hair around so that all of it was covered once again.

"It is beyond explanation, but I will try. First, it's natural and necessary that you must know who I am before we begin."

"What?" Cyril was confused, "Begin what?"

Ms. Ramyla walked over to the bookshelf and got on her knees, wincing as they crackled. She pulled out a small crate and placed it on top of the desk. She removed the cover and there inside was a small glass object with a large bulbous base and a thin glass tract that connected to a smaller bulb. She rested the object on the surface of the desk and walked over to one of the barrels, scooping out a handful of yellow powder. Then she went to the next barrel where she scooped another handful of a white crystalloid powder with her other hand and ran over to the glass object, pouring the white powder into the large bulb and dumping the yellow powder onto the desk. She ran outside the room and made a ruckus knocking over bottles and pots, then quickly returned with a small bowl cupped in her hands. She dipped the bowl into the barrel that contained the silvery liquid, gathering a small amount, then poured the contents into the glass object, settling into the white powder and turning the mixture a light and slightly luminescent grey.

"Mmm…yes…yes…" she mumbled to herself while she watched intently as the mixture started to glow and pulsate very lightly. Cyril got up off the barrel and stood beside her, watching the light show,

"What is this?" he said quietly under his breath. The old woman turned around and pushed him back against the barrel again, making him sit down.

"You want answers…" she whispered, squinting and staring into his sable eyes.

&nb sp;

&nb sp;

The room would fill with light and then darken over and over again as the concoction oscillated with intensity. Edmund still stood in the same spot, nervously watching and listening as the old woman began to tell Cyril.

"My name is Amadee Ramyla. I am native of an island known as the V.I.T."

"V.I.T.?" he replied, stopping to think for a second, "I've never heard of this place…where is it?"

"V.I.T. is located in the center of the Arighetto Bay…" Edmund added from the side. Cyril stared at him and announced arrogantly, "Arighetto Bay. That's impossible. There's no land between the two peninsulas of Crescendore."

"Ahh," Amadee cut in, " Exactly! You were never supposed to know that there is…"

"More precisely, no one was ever supposed to know," Edmund commented. He walked over to the bookshelf and pulled out a thin leaflet, "You see, V.I.T. was the first part of Western Ananthea that any Ponderer ever reached during the ages of exploration.

Adamee added, holding her finger up, "Corwyn Eulaynes."

"Yes, Sir Corwyn Eulaynes, the first Ponderer to have left his country to search the world. He and a small group of fifteen men left Pondus and were the first to establish settlements across Western Ananthea and on the V.I.T."

Cyril looked interestedly at Amadee, "You know of the Ponderers? And of the Domino Lingua?"

She creaked with laughter and acknowledged, "Of course, much more than even Edmund has any idea of…"

"So these Ponderers, they are real? And these stories about Alexander, it's all true?"

Amadee stepped back and snatched the leaflet from Edmund and flipped through few pages, stopping and showing Cyril a page with a drawing of a young boy with glasses and a long ponytail wearing the white robes of a Ponderer.

"This is Alexander," she squeaked. Cyril looked up at Edmund with sanctification in his eyes, "So, there really was a war?

Amadee crept up slowly beside him and placed her hand in knees. She smiled, her crooked teeth petrifying Cyril.

"It was more than war boy…it was an atrocious massacre," her smile faded and she spoke ominously, grinding her teeth, "millions of men from all over Ananthea died at the whims of Alexander and the Sorcerers. Back in those times, there were three great nations: Pondus, Caledonia, and Eleutherea."

"I've never heard of these before."

"Just listen Cyril," Edmund advised, which was returned by Cyril in distaste.

Amadee continued, "Pondus, you might already know, tis located in the mountains of the Mordisor Mountain Range in Loryndia and behind the Nivean Forests, locked away from the rest of this world. It was one of the first civilizations ever known to man, said to be holy descendants of the All Mighty himself."

"Yeah I know this story already…" Cyril said, insisting her to move on .

"When they finally decided to disperse and explore the world, they established settlements all across Ananthea. Two of these prospered and gained nobility and recognition everywhere. Those were Eleutheria, which used to consist of the land of Loryndia and Syarkon, and Caledonia, which included the same Kingdom of Calduron you know of today and the Eastern Peninsula of Crescendore.

Cyril looked over at Edmund adversely, "I thought Ponderers didn't believe in sovereign kingdoms?"

"Don't be so hasty with your antipathies, Cyril," Edmund returned, "Listen."

Attention returned to Amadee, "This is true, but Ponderers remained united during their travels. And rather than actual kingdoms or countries, these lands were regions where groups of territories were located. For example, Eleutheria consisted of forty different settlements across the land of Loryndia and seven settlements that were spread along the coasts of northern, southern, eastern, and western Syarkon."

"What about Caledonia?"

"Ahh yes. Caledonia was an exeption. By the time the Caledonian region had reached its peak, the people had begun to lose their sense of nationalities. Separated by time and space, they began to lose traditions and their culture change, just as a child who is taken from its parents. Ya keep in mind now that Caledonia came into existence more than 1000 years after Corwyn Eulaynes had discovered the new land, This is the time when Alexander was born." Amadee paused to look through the leaflet, but failed to find what she was looking for. She went back to the bookshelf and placed the leaflet back, scanning through the books with her nose right up to the spines and her eyes squinted very tightly trying to see.

"Ah!"

She pulled a book out of the shelf and licked her fingers as she flipped through the pages, stopping on one and handing the book to Edmund to read the page and who nodded in accordance, then passed it to Cyril. It was another picture of Alexander, but this time he was older, about the same age as Cyril and Edmund, although he still had the same glasses and long ponytail.

"He was born nine years before the 1000th anniversary of Sir Corwyn Eulaynes landing in the town which Sir Corwyn had established when he first landed called Jalpur. By that time, the people that had inhabited Caledonia were no better than the men dwell in Ananthea today and the ancient culture of the Ponderers and the Domino Lingua was lost because no one had sought to teach it to the following generations. But Alexander was born from a high class of Ponderers who still held strong to their traditions. There's no knowledge of his childhood, but people always said he had greed instilled into his blood from the day he was born. He always wanted more, and one way or another, he always got more. Alexander was a genius, no doubt, but his disgraceful animalistic emotions ruined him. When he grew into a young man, it's said he had all the knowledge of Jalpur's elders combined, and that he tried to get them to force a reign over the land, but they had strong convictions in their traditions and never agreed. Frustrated with the land he lived in, he decided to sail East towards Elueutheria which was under the deathly grip of a famine at the time."

"Is that so?" Edmund cut in. He walked over and grabbed the book from Cyril, "This is far different from what I have read about Alexander. He was supposed to have to been one of the first Ponderers to settle in Eleutheria during the age of exploration, and from there he gathered the four Sorcerers from Syarkonia in his quest for power."

Amadee howled with laughter, then became frighteningly serious as she spoke, "Of course. Any remaining books left on the libraries around Ananthea are frauds! The people who wrote them want the Pondus civilization look as bad as possible and influence the readers into thinking that Alexander was bred in a Pondus structure, rather than in the normal conditions that they themselves originate from."

Edmund crossed his arms and gazed up at the ceiling, "Hmm, it makes sense. But please if you will, explain to Cyril how Alexander came to power and the war as fast as possible because we still need to perform the ritual."

Cyril stared at both of them nervously, "What…what ritual?

"No matter," she continued, "Alexander sailed to the Eleutherian territories to the south where the famine had hit hardest. Factions led by other Ponderers had arose due to the circumstances, and people were foolishly lured into the farce blanket of security the Ponderers had created. It doesn't take much thought to realize that either one of them or all of them had purposely caused the famine. There was the northern faction that called themselves the Red Moon, led by a former Ponderer named Banter Raadmun…"

Cyril smirked "I can see where he got the name…"

"…to the east was the Nivean-Eleutheria Union, led by Garrick Doran. It should be known Garrick was truly the most evil of all. The man was a master of mind spells, and used them constantly for his own pleasure. Its said that he even tried to use one on Alexander at one point in time, but failed and would've cost him his life if Alexander hadn't relished Garrick's desire for power. On the south points was Sanersone Syarkon and small troop of three other Ponderers that had previously settled the land but were forced to join his cause.

"You said Syarkon? Is he who Syarkonia is named after?" Edmund inquired.

Her eyes widened as she violently nodded her head like a spring, "Yes, ill explain that later…and finally to the west…"

Amadee stopped and became silent, dropping her eyes to the floor and picking at her cloth. The two men glanced at each other and back at Amadee who remained quiet.

"Is there something wrong?" Cyril asked, hoping to hear more from her.

"…"

"Amadee…"

"…Yes," she said softly, "…I, I can't remember the name of the last Sorcerer…"

"That's quite alright, just explain the war," Edmund insisted. Amadee picked at her cloths and it took a while for her to get back to her story. When she did, she spoke softly and more soberly.

"…Yes…once Alexander reached the struggling land, he met with each leader and offered them each a quarter of all the land in Ananthea if they joined him in his conquest."

"I don't get it," Cyril explained, "Why in the first place did he want to conquer Ananthea, and how did he know to go to Eleutheria and gather these four men?"

Edmund stepped up and answered, "Simple. Eleutheria's famine was having tremendous effects around the world, so everyone knew about the condition of Eleutheria. What she didn't mention is that when it occurred, there was a small battle between northern Eleutheria and the southern territories. The northern territories were much less directly affected by the famine, while the south succumbed to plagues and diseases because of the insatiable amount of death that followed from it. Many people tried to flee to the north, where they began building the famous Iron Walls to separate themselves from the cursed people from the south."

"Ah," Adamee added, "Lorynd Seger. A well known Ponderer who people say caused the war in the first place. He chose to build the walls to keep the rest of the citizens safe, and after the completion and isolation of the southern territories, the people named him the leader…and just after his inauguration, Alexander arrived and the Sorcerers were formed. That's when the war began."

"May I?" Edmund interceded. Adamee bowed and stepped aside to cover the barrels that she had left open.

"Remember the stories I told you in prison?"

Cyril nodded, "Why?"

"This is where those stories take place. Ill try to keep it simple. Alexander and the Sorcerers agreed to an arrangement, where each would take the quarter of land they wanted. I'm guessing that Sanerson Syarkon had chosen the southern portion of Easter Ananthea considering the fact it's now known as Syarkonia…but anyways, that began ransacking villages and cities and destroying the Nivean Forest. They tried to attack the newly formed Loryndia but were not able to conquer it completely as they eventually lost the war."

"How? Weren't they something like the greatest-worst Sorcerers ever?"

Edmund laughed, "Yes, but the problem is that they tried to fight the world. Four Ponderers are nothing against an entire planet, even with Alexander's Ashes Army-"

"Yeah what is that army all about?" Cyril got up from his chair, deep in understanding.

"You see, the war isn't as simple as we make it sound. First off, it lasted for over 200 years-"

"What?!" Cyril exclaimed, 'How is that even possible? They would've been dead!"

"Yes, but that would be applied to any normal man. A Ponderer can live for thousands of years unless they are killed or sacrifice themselves through a spell. It makes no sense right?"

Cyril made a strange face and nodded, "Obviously…"

"Remember how I told you they were masters of nature and spirituality? Well, with that kind of knowledge, they can delay or even negate to entire process of death. Of course that is limited to those who have the capabilities of doing do…further on, during the war, warriors from every region in Ananthea sailed to Loryndia or the Delya Archipelago where they base their efforts from. Even some Ponderers and fighters from the Nivean tribes had fought against them, but no one ever had the slightest chance in stopping them. You see, Alexander had created a spell in which he could give rise to the dead and have them fulfill his wishes. So the more the Sorcerers killed, the more Alexander could recruit into his dead army, the Ashes Army…"

Edmund was interrupted by Amadee's loud high pitched screech when a cluster of books came tumbling down on top of her as tried to reach for the top of the bookshelf. Cyril jumped out his chair and picked the old woman back up onto her feet. She squealed with laughter out of embarrassment and handed a worn out book that didn't even have any covers to Cyril.

"Ya take this and read," she glanced down and picked up another book, "And this one."

He read the faded titles, "Penso Alica Libri:Utor Quod Meditor… Meus Usus Valde Bellum Per Sigurther Narada…is this the Domino Lingua?"

"Mm. The first Edmund can put to good use I hope." Cyril handed the book over to Edmund who read it again to himself, "I can't believe it?! Is this real?!"

Adamee grinned, "The last of its kind my dear boy!"

Cyril was unaware of the significance of the book as he couldn't read it, so he tried to signal to them that he didn't understand by clearing his throat and tossing the book in his hands, the pages flapping on the down fall.

"Ah! What are you doing," Amadee snapped, snatching the book before Cyril could catch it, which he commented on.

"Nice catch…"

She held the book close to her bosom and shrieked "Have you no respect! This book is one of a kind!"

"Damn Cyril!" Edmund joined in on the bashing, "Have you no idea of the importance of these books?!"

"Well, no…I can't read them…"

"Oooh"

"Ahhh"

They simultaneously bellowed, remembering Cyril did not know the Domino Lingua at all.

"Right, right." Edmund chortled, "See this book in my hand?"

Cyril rolled his eyes, "Yes Edmund, I see the book."

Edmund was overwhelmed with excitement and accidentally bit his mouth with his tooth when he tried to explain to Cyril. Adamee getting riled up upon seeing the dripping blood wiped her hand across Edmund's mouth who winced and jerked his head back, She ran to the drawing on the floor and smeared the blood in an small circle at the center of it.

"Ah! Good, Good, Good!" she smiled, "That-"Cuts Out"-the part of me getting your blood! HA HA!" she freakishly laughed when she made her little pun, the men forcing themselves to laugh.

"The you have in your hand is the real journal of Sigurther Narada, one the greatest warriors of all time who fought during the war…"

Edmund's jaw dropped when Adamee said this.

"...Read it so you can understand all we talk about. But just so you know, the journal comes to an usual end, maybe because he died then. The other book Edmund has is a collection of spells and how to use them. These should help both of you."

They were both delighted and thanked the old woman with all the thanks they could muster. Edmund had already begun to read the book from the beginning, pulling his hair back in astonishment as he read. Cyril on the other hand was still very confused.

"I don't get it…" Cyril stared at the book, "How do you have these? And how do you know so much-"

"Nah! Enough talking. I need to make preparations now," she said, running over to the glass object and holding the large bulb in her right hand.

"Really Adamee, you didn't even explain V.I.T." he asserted himself. Adamee redirected her attention to Cyril and sighed.

"V.I.T. is unknown to anyone who isn't a Ponderer or a Melurian. 'WHY' you're going to ask, is because it became a safe haven for those after the persecution of the Ponderers began and the demise of the Melurians…'What does that mean?' It means there are survivors who have forced themselves to stay hidden in order to stay alive…'How come no one has ever found it?'…because a barrier had been cast to keep the island illusive to any normal man's sight. Err… "

"Huh? So your saying there are still Melurians alive in V.I.T.?"

Edmund slapped shut his book, "Cyril, please! Let her continue with her work. This is important for both of us."

Cyril stepped back and sat against the barrel his mind raging with even more questions than he had before this encounter. Adamee again concentrated on the glass.

"Where did you get this alembic?" he asked, intrigued by the object. The woman ignored him and continued to concentrate on the glass in her hand.

"What's an alembic?" Cyril shot out from the side, trying to get himself involved in any way possible. "A special type of schematic," Edmund replied. Cyril was about to ask what exactly was a schematic, but came to the conclusion that there was no point in asking anything more right now. Instead he placed the book on the barrel beside him and leaned against it as he watched the woman focus on it.

"Edmund, take a pinch of the sulfur," she ordered. Edmund did so with the yellow powder that was on the table and held it over his other hand to be sure he didn't spill.

"When I say, ya drop it into the small retort, okay?"

Edmund grunted in affirmation and licked his lips as he held it over the hole.

"Ya have to be perfect, or we'll all die within seconds," she warned. Cyril heard this and stood up straight, evening out his coat and speaking nervously, "Wh-what? Die? What…"

He quieted down when the palm on which Adamee was balancing the alembic glowed red for a second and the luminescent grey contents inside the glass bubbled and what looked like small lightning bolts began to flash inside the bottle. Each time a bubble popped inside, the bolt of electricity would flash and there would be a release of sparkling glass that hovered into the channel connecting two bulbs and enter into the small tube.

"Perfect…extraordinary…" Edmund said to himself as he watched Adamee display her talents. Cyril on the other hand was shaking and sweating as he watched in fear of the impending death that awaited him once Edmund would pour the yellow powder into the bottle.

"Now!"

That very moment, Edmund dropped the sulfur inside.. Cyril fell to the ground, covering his head as he began to hear a loud sizzle and tremendous pops like cannonfire. Strong, bright yellow flashes emanated from the alembic after each little explosion. Adamee and Edmund had to shut their eyes for the entire minute the concoction reacted to the sulfur until the explosions ceased and the sizzle slowly started to become quieter and ease. Cyril got up and peeked at the bottle behind his hands and saw the brownish yellow liquid that had filled the smaller bulb. Adamee took the alembic and poured it into the bowl, then mixed it around in a circular motion. Edmund stood amazed, shaking his head in wonder as he could not formulate the words to describe his admiration for the old woman.

Cyril slowly walked over to the two who were hovering over the liquid in awe. He stood beside them and stared at the strange oily substance that she had just created. He glanced over at Adamee and down at her hands, grabbing one and holding it up. She had an upside down triangle tattooed on the palm. Adamee and Edmund could do nothing as they were stunned when Cyril grabbed her other hand and saw the right side up triangle on the other palm. He released her hands and glared at Edmund who's mouth was trembling when he was caught in Cyril's dark, menacing stare. Adamee upon knowing the severity of the situation quickly tried to push Cyril back again, but this time Cyril didn't move an inch.

"What the bloody hell is going on here Edmund," Cyril demanded to know, "What the hell are those tattoos?"

"Oh please Seeril, just sit d-"

"No," he declared, grabbing Adamee and pulling her to the side, "He's been avoiding this question for a long time now and I refrained from asking out of respect. But enough is enough Edmund! I can't trust you unless I know what these tattoos mean!" He stepped right up to Edmund's face and grabbed both his wrists, holding them in between the two. Edmund tried to yank his hands back but Cyril wasn't planning on letting Edmund slip away.

"Tell me Edmund! What do you have to hide? I've told you all you ever wanted to know about me!"

"I can't!" he shouted back, ripping his arms away from Cyril, "I can't tell you!

"Why is that? You think I'm going to report you to the soldiers or something? Are you mad? We are in this together my friend, but I beginning to think you're in this for yourself!"

Edmund's face turned red as he became embittered and tense. "Damn you Cyril, you don't know anything!

The two men bickered back and forth as Cyril was persistent in getting Edmund to talk, but he was strong in his defiance and would not speak. Cyril repeatedly tried to grab his hand and unwrap the cloth, only to have Edmund pull back and push him away, shouting at him to leave it be. For one last try, Cyril asked Edmund to explain himself and attempted to grab his hand and in that moment Edmund recoiled his arm, clenched his fingers into a fist, and threw an unexpected punch right onto Cyril's jaw knocked him right over onto the table, bumping Adamee's concoction off as he slammed back against the floor, unconscious.

"Ah! No!" she screamed as the mixture spilled onto Cyril's face and inside his mouth. "Hurry Edmund! Get him to the circle!" Edmund was toppled over, swinging up and down and holding on to his hand while wincing and groaning from the pain of the blow..

"Hurry you imbecile!

She took Cyril by the hands and tried to pull him around, but her debilitated body seemed to croak and squeal like an old rusty door hinge as she strained herself trying to lift Cyril in vain as she didn't have enough strength to move him


End file.
